‘I didn’t say she doesn’t need help.’ Niels knocked back the last of his coffee. ‘But it’s not enough to put her on a hold.’
‘I know that, it’s just… I have a bad feeling about what might happen if we send her home.’
Niels paid the bill and pocketed the receipt. ‘If it makes you feel better, I’ll have Janine contact social services for a copy of her file.’ In a hurry to leave now, he stood and zipped his parka to his chin. ‘Was there something about Cassie’s mother that bothered you?’
Foster mother. ‘Nothing specific,’ Erin said, gathering her things. ‘Just the shock, I guess, what with her charging into the clinic like that, all teeth and claws.’
‘Teeth and claws?’
‘You saw her.’
‘What I saw was a frightened parent.’
Clearly, she and Niels operated on a different playing field. If it were up to her, she’d place Cassie on a temporary hold, and then admit her to their three-month residential programme. But her hands were tied. As the clinic’s director, Niels had the final say.
Out on the street, the air was sharp as glass. Together, they turned into the wind and plodded through the drifting snow.
‘What’s the word on the Greenlake case?’
‘I haven’t decided yet.’ She drew her scarf over her frozen lips.
‘Look, I know it’s a hassle, but it’s part of the deal. If the Mr Moneybags supporting the clinic expects a little community work, who are we to complain?’
By the time they arrived at the Meadows’ wrought-iron gate, flanked on either side by a towering yew hedge, Erin could no longer feel her fingers. Through the bars, she could just make out a corner of the glass conservatory, built as an extension on the east wing, an enticing sanctuary in winter, with its profusion of orchids and potted palms. The library and music room, the oil paintings and private chef, the exquisitely decorated patient rooms, all of it paid for by a mysterious benefactor, who preferred to remain anonymous.
She shivered in the biting cold. ‘I’ll let you know on Monday.’
‘Great.’ He slipped his key into the lock. ‘I’m looking forward to giving the board the good news.’
*
Cassie was out of bed and standing by the window, the sheets and blanket in a tangle on the floor.
‘You’re up,’ Erin said, hanging back, afraid to do anything that might spook her. ‘You must be feeling better.’ The silence lengthened. ‘Cassie?’
‘I’m fine.’ She whipped around, her face taut with anger. ‘When can I go home?’
‘I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.’
‘Who says I need help?’ Her knees buckled, and she grabbed the windowsill.
Erin hurried towards her, but Cassie waved her away. ‘I’m not getting back in that bed.’
‘How about a compromise?’ Erin dragged the armchair to the window. ‘You sit here, and I’ll back off.’ She perched on the bed, trying to make eye contact, but Cassie kept her face turned away. ‘What’s at home that you’re so anxious to get back to? A boyfriend? Your foster mother?’
‘Lonnie? Uh, no.’ Cassie curled her lip. ‘The minute I walk through the door, she’ll probably beat the crap out of me.’
Erin stiffened. ‘If she’s abusing you, we’ll need to file a report with social services.’
‘You want to help me?’ Cassie bent over and yanked off the clinic’s white socks. ‘Don’t do anything stupid like call social services. Lonnie’s got her problems, but she’s better than some. It could be much, much worse.’
Lonnie of the slitted eyes and acid tongue. Erin shuddered to think of the life Cassie had led. Neglected. Abused. Shunted from one foster home to another. A copy of her file would give them a better idea what they were dealing with.
‘I’ll let you rest now.’
‘Whatever.’
At the door, Erin turned back. Slumped in the chair, Cassie’s face was slack with fatigue, but her eyes were watchful, alert to the smallest sign of danger. A posture Erin knew well.
‘How long have you been in the system?’
‘Forever.’ Cassie opened her eyes wide and cocked her head. ‘I was a dumpster baby. Happy now?’
4
Hunched against the wind, Erin stumbled on the blocks of frozen snow at the edge of the car park. How easy it would be to slip and break her neck out here. And who would find her in time? The green bobble hat and mittens she’d bought at a Christmas market in Galway offered poor protection from the freezing air. The driver’s seat creaked with cold. By the time Erin inched her car through the icy streets and pulled in front of her building, it was after eight.
The three-storey Victorian house, welcoming enough in daylight, looked bleak and deserted in the dark. A dim bulb on the front porch provided the only light. Long since divided into flats, the house had entered what appeared to be the final stage of its demise. Had it been an option, she would have jumped at the chance to live on the grounds of the Meadows, like Niels, who had a flat in the former carriage house at the edge of the estate. She’d never been inside but imagined it as spacious and light-filled, with a sleek modern kitchen and expansive view of the gardens. How wonderful that would be, freed from the daily battle of the snowy streets. She’d forgotten how brutal the winters were in this part of the world.
The porch railings shuddered in the wind. Moss-green paint flaked off the window frames. But if Erin ignored the scabby paint and neglected garden, the flat ticked all the boxes on her wish list. A private entrance, windows on all sides, and an unobstructed view of the river. A young couple from Honduras, with a baby on the way, lived in the flat below. Her own section of the house spanned the entire top floor, with nothing above her but an empty attic. Mrs Deptford,
