Groomed: Danger lies closer than you think

I told her it was and was just heading downstairs when my own mobile phone started ringing again. It was John again, who’d now been in touch with Keeley’s social worker, Danny, and was able to confirm that they’d both be with us at one thirty.

‘And I’ve spoken with several colleagues about the phone thing as well.’

‘And?’

‘And you’re not going to like it. Because apparently it’s a very grey area. For one thing Keeley is almost sixteen, which makes it extremely difficult to prove coercion. And for another, the fact that this seems to be random people she’s phoning – who you say she claims she doesn’t know from Adam, that’s right, isn’t it? – just makes it even more difficult. If she doesn’t know them, then they probably don’t know her either, and may well not even be aware of her age. And even if they were, that too would be difficult to prove. Which means it’s almost impossible to address legally, on either count; unless there’s a specific complaint, or some evidence that someone is abusing or grooming her, it’s just so difficult to prove, full stop.’

‘So it’s allowed, then?’ I asked, understanding what he was saying, and processing the reason why, but still feeling completely floored by it all. ‘A young girl can actually, within the law, have phone sex with strangers? Who pay her? You’re actually telling me this is legal?’

‘It’s not as clear cut as that, Casey,’ John explained. ‘And I do have people digging around for more information for me, but right now that’s all I know for sure. We can discuss it when we come over. Though one bit of good news is that I’ve spoken to a family liaison officer who works with children who’ve been groomed, and one thing we can do is have him come with us to talk to her. Keeley might not feel very receptive, but I think it’s important that we try. If nothing else to spell out the potential danger she may open herself up to – whether it’s online or via the phone – particularly if she is giving out her address in order to receive gifts. That part’s very worrying.’

And also practised by girls in Tyler’s class, apparently, I mused, having yet another ‘what’s the world coming to?’ moment.

‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘And I’d like that to happen very much.’

‘I thought you might,’ John said, ‘given that it’s your security at stake too.’

‘Not to mention the fact that we really need to nip this in the bud; I can’t have this sort of thing going on under my roof.’

‘I’ll do that,’ John assured me. ‘If we can pin one down we’ll bring along a community support police officer too, just to reiterate that a criminal offence could be taking place without her even being aware of it.’

That I didn’t imagine for a moment. I reckoned Keeley was bright enough to be well aware of the ramifications of everything she did. But it couldn’t hurt, and a presence in uniform often had an impact, even to a child who’d been in the system long enough to know how to work it to their advantage. Feeling I’d done all I could do for now, I told John I’d see him later, then got down to the business of making our little entrepreneur her breakfast.

Chapter 6 (#ulink_4f6bc8b5-594f-5296-a219-973e8d99e1a9)

‘Oh God,’ Keeley groaned. ‘I hate meetings.’

She’d come downstairs in the ten minutes she’d promised. I was impressed. It was also nice to see the pretty fifteen-year-old beneath the make-up, and I hoped she wouldn’t feel the need to slap a load more on after she’d eaten, though with her assessment of her social worker Danny as being so cool, I suspected that I’d probably hope in vain. ‘Don’t we all, love?’ I replied.

She sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs and groaned again. ‘Well, he just better fetch my stuff, at least. That cow will be wearing all my clothes by now. Bet you anything.’

I eyed the pseudo-sportswear that Keeley had come to us in – and was, of course, still wearing – and though I too hoped that her social worker would be bringing some more clothing, I doubted very much that Zoe Burke would currently be parading around her house in baggy Ellesse bottoms. Let alone any kind of designer hoody. But then, what did I know? I didn’t know her, did I?

I rolled my eyes and slid the jar of jam across the table.

‘Strawberry jam okay?’ I asked. Keeley nodded. ‘And don’t worry. I reminded John, my link worker, that you needed your own things.’

Keeley bit into her toast with her even white teeth. ‘Who else did you say was coming?’ she asked, her mouth still full of it.

‘A community support officer and some kind of family liaison person,’ I said. Her brows drew together. She was obviously perplexed. ‘Something like that, anyway,’ I added. ‘Well, as far as I know. Just to speak with you about how to keep yourself safe while using your phone for … Well, the kind of things that you were doing when I heard you …’

Keeley’s lower lip dropped open. ‘God,’ she huffed. ‘You mean you’ve grassed me up for that? Why would you do that? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I told you!’ She glared at me then, her nostrils flaring. ‘Why would you tell people about that? No wonder I go fucking mad at foster carers!’

I banged my cup of coffee onto the table rather more heavily than I’d intended. ‘Please don’t use that kind of language in this house, Keeley,’ I said firmly. ‘You don’t hear it from us and I don’t want to hear it from you. The reason I told Mr Fulshaw what I did is very simple. I have a duty to do so. It’s my job. And I’d expect you to know by now that foster carers have to fill in daily sheets recording any incidents, and these get passed on. You might not like it, but it’s something we have to do and that’s that.’

She was still glaring, so I simply glared back at her. There was nothing to be gained by coming over all apologetic. She knew perfectly well I’d had no choice in the matter. And even if I had done, my glare told her, I’d have reported it anyway. We would care for her whether she liked it or not.

I watched her face go through various changes as she clearly tried to work out whether or not to continue to argue with me. Thankfully she took the sensible option.

‘I didn’t mean to swear,’ she said, readily contrite now she’d registered that I wasn’t standing for any nonsense. ‘And, okay, fine, then. But I really don’t need to speak to those people. I’m not stupid. And I’ll stop doing it while I’m here if that’s what you want.’

Which seemed all too easy. I didn’t doubt saying one thing to her foster carers and doing another was second nature to her. ‘Yes,’ I said anyway. ‘That’s definitely what I want, obviously. But “those people” are coming out now anyway, so it won’t hurt to listen to what they have to say, will it? Now eat your breakfast and then you can go make your bed, please, if you haven’t already. No doubt Danny will want to see where you’re sleeping.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she said with an eye roll. ‘To make sure I’m tucked up safe in my winceyette pyjamas, clutching my teddy, like a good little girl. Okay, okay, sorry,’ she added quickly, raising her palms.

Keeley might well find the whole idea of the impending meeting tedious in the extreme but she didn’t make a fuss and went back up to her room to get ready without any further wisecracks.

And I sympathised, too, despite feeling so irritable with her. She must have sat through so many of them, after all.

It was such a singular situation being a child in long-term care, and having your life pored over and discussed by a series of strangers – not to mention having little power to shape your own destiny. I wondered if she was thinking twice now about taking the action that had brought her to us, and again about whether there was any truth in it. Time would tell, but in the meantime the most pressing thing, it seemed to me, was to head her off from her chosen way of getting herself pocket money. I hoped the professionals coming to see her were good at what they did, because I knew kids like Keeley had a built-in off-switch when being lectured by adults – hardened by life, they tended to think they already knew it all.

I did a lightning clean, and was just peeling off my rubber gloves when I spotted John Fulshaw heading up the front path. He was making slow progress, on account of the brace of enormous suitcases he was lugging.

I went to the front door and opened it just as he lowered them to the ground, puffing. They were clearly as heavy as they looked.

‘Seems this young lady here’ – he nodded towards Keeley, who had rattled down the stairs and was now standing in the doorway with me – ‘has too many things to fit into just one car.’ He held his hand out to shake Keeley’s. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’m Casey’s supervising social worker, John. D’you want to nip out and bring in the rest? It’s all in the boot. Your social worker’s following along with the other lot.’

‘Of course,’ she said, almost shyly (which I took to be a positive). ‘I’ll just go up and grab my hoody.’

We both watched Keeley sprint back up the stairs. ‘Not quite the live wire I’d been led to expect,’ John said, as she disappeared across the landing. He hauled the cases inside and rubbed his hands together. ‘Jeez. It’s bloody freezing out there.’

I smiled. ‘Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet,’ I said. ‘“Live wire” is our Tyler. That girl outsparks live wire by a mile, trust me. Just give her time.’

Keeley trotted back down then, feeding her arms into the sleeves of her hoody as she descended. John raised his car keys, once she’d poked her head up through the neck. ‘Can you catch?’ he asked. She could. ‘There you go, then,’ he said. ‘There’s a couple of boxes in the boot and a bin bag on the back seat. Give me a shout if any of it is too heavy for you.’

‘No worries. I’ll be fine,’ she said brightly.

‘So what’s her social worker like?’ I asked him as Keeley now headed off down the front garden path. ‘Danny? Oh, you’ll like him. Young lad. Mid-twenties. Though he looks about sixteen. Which doesn’t make it easy – particularly with older teenagers, or so I’m told. Specially the girls – they apparently either tend to fall immediately in love with him, or decide he’s one of their besties.’

‘You’re remarkably well informed,’ I said, raising my eyebrows. ‘And it sounds like a dangerous combination. Which category does he fall into for Keeley? Do you know that as well?’

‘I do, as it happens. The latter, apparently. Though it’s a love–hate kind of thing. One minute she loves him like a brother, the next she hates him – the usual stuff. I suppose it is what it is. But it’s generally a good relationship. He’s been with her coming up for a year now.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Replacing the “bitch”.’

John frowned. ‘Yes, by all accounts that wasn’t such a great match. But, yes, this one seems to be. So that’s a positive.’

It was definitely a positive. A child’s relationship with their social worker was a complicated and close one, even more so if the child was in long-term care. They were at the sharp end of the council’s role in loco parentis, and how well they bonded with their child impacted on everything. Even Tyler, very much part of the Watson family these days, still retained a close attachment to his social worker, Will, and that was exactly as it should be. A network of healthy personal attachments was massively important to any child’s well-being, but particularly so when that child had already suffered the loss of the ones many of us took for granted.

Not that there was a blueprint for successfully matching children to social workers. For one thing, it didn’t really work like that. Cases came in constantly, staff were in perennially short supply, and who they were given was more often than not simply a case of who was on duty. And the strangest pairings – in terms of age, personality and gender – were often the most successful.

Having left the doorstep to drag Keeley’s cases upstairs, John and I were now alerted to Danny’s arrival by the sound of laughter as we came back down into the hall. They were both coming up the path now, heavily laden with yet more bags and boxes, and I could see straight away that they were comfortable with each other.

John had been right. Danny definitely looked younger than his years. Maybe not as young as sixteen, but he was definitely youthful, an impression heightened by his skinny jeans and cool trainers, and the way his hair was swept back, in what was currently the fashion – he could have stepped straight from the pages of a fashion magazine. Or maybe auditioned for One Direction.

And there was still stuff to bring in apparently. So introductions were made as I trooped out to help, leaving John to go into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

I was staggered by the amount of possessions Keeley had, if I’m honest: at least eight large boxes, two more suitcases – large ones, again – and a variety of bags stuffed with goodness knew what. Most kids we’d had came with far less than this, but I knew that a child who’d been in the system some time could easily amass a fair bit.