They nodded. 'And that woman next to her is Rita's neighbour,' Mary said. 'Not sure yet who the other woman is. We got here just before you.'

I looked at Rita. I knew from the Essential Information Forms that she was in her early thirties, but she could have easily been fifteen years older. She was a short dumpy woman, badly overweight, and with long unkempt thin fair hair straggling around her shoulders. She was wearing a faded cotton T-shirt and a short skirt, both of which were stretched tightly across her stomach and hips. The T-shirt had risen up to reveal a pierced belly b.u.t.ton and stretch marks. She had an arm around each of the boys and couldn't get enough of them. I noticed she had completely ignored Donna's arrival. Donna, having received a hug from Granny Bajan, now stood watching her mother and the boys, perhaps waiting for her turn to be hugged, although she didn't seem to be expecting it.

'h.e.l.lo, Rita,' I said, taking a step forward. 'I'm Cathy, Donna's carer.' Rita ignored me and continued hugging and tickling the boys. I thought they were going to be well hyped up by the time they got into school, and I wondered what the other parents and children who were pa.s.sing on their way in were making of this noisy gathering.

Beside Rita stood a teenage girl, also badly overweight, and with her stomach showing and revealing a similar piercing. She was chewing gum and staring into s.p.a.ce, and I could see the likeness Edna had spoken of. Without doubt it was Chelsea, and she looked like Donna, more than Donna looked like her brothers, although Donna, Warren and Jason were supposed to have the same father.

'You must be Chelsea?' I said, smiling. She glared at me and continued chewing; I guessed she had a.s.sumed her mother's hostility towards me. Apart from the neighbour that Ray had pointed out, another white woman stood on the edge of the group. I took her to be in her forties; she had blonde hair and a walking stick. I looked at her and she made eye contact.

'I'm May, Donna's aunt,' she said. I smiled and nodded, and remembered that Donna had said she went to her aunt's sometimes for her meals; I wondered if this was the same aunt. I didn't know if May and Rita were sisters; I couldn't see any family likeness.

I looked again at Donna, who still hadn't been acknowledged by her mother but was clearly hoping that at some point Rita would leave the boys and at least look at her. I saw Mary and Ray looking at Donna too. I felt dreadfully sorry for her as she stood like an outcast on the edge of the group, while her two brothers competed for, and enjoyed, their mother's attention.

'How are you, Donna?' Mary asked. 'You're looking great.'

Donna gave a shy half nod.

'She is doing very well,' I said, loud enough for Rita to hear. 'I am so pleased with her progress.'

'That's excellent,' Ray and Mary both said. Rita said nothing and didn't even glance up.

It was nearly 8.45 a.m. and I was becoming mindful of the time. I wanted to go into reception before the bell rang to buy Donna's uniform and make sure the school had my contact details, and also hopefully say h.e.l.lo to the head, Mrs Bristow. Donna would see her brothers later in the playground and also at lunchtime, and given that Rita was ignoring her, and no one else seemed in any rush to speak to her now that her gran had given her a hug and Mary and Ray had said h.e.l.lo, I thought there didn't appear to be much point in hanging around. Indeed there was every reason why we shouldn't: with each pa.s.sing minute, as Donna stood on the edge of the group and was ignored, her rejection seemed more p.r.o.nounced and pathetic. She looked so sad and I felt the indignation of her exclusion even if she didn't.

'Donna,' I said, 'I think we should go into school now so that I can buy your uniform.' She glanced at me and then looked anxiously at her mother, clearly hoping that her mother would seize this last opportunity to at least say h.e.l.lo, if not hug her, as she was still doing with the boys. Despite the appalling treatment Donna had received at the hands of Rita, Rita was still her mother, and there was doubtless a bond there. Time and time again I had looked after children who had been dreadfully neglected and abused but had still maintained a bond with their parents, and still sought their approval, affection and attention. Only in the absolute worse cases of horrendous (often s.e.xual) abuse did children sever the bond as soon as they could and reject the parents. What I had seen happen, though (and what I thought might happen in Donna's case), was that as time went by and the child started to make comparisons, and judgements on the way they had been treated, they reduced their dependency on their parents and the bond weakened, disappearing altogether if the child was adopted or placed with long-term carers. But for now Donna craved the attention of her mother, and it was pathetic to watch her being ostracised.

'Donna,' I said again, moving closer to her. 'We really need to go now.'

'Yes, and we should be going in too,' Mary said.

It was always difficult ending these impromptu meetings; in contact the start and end times of the session were clearly stated to everyone, and strictly adhered to. 'Come on, Donna,' I said again.

It wasn't Donna who spoke next, but Rita. 'Come on, boys,' she said, 'give me one last hug.' She drew them to her and at the same time, looked over their heads to Donna. 'And you can p.i.s.s off, you c.u.n.t,' she sneered, and then she spat.

I gasped. Ray and Mary looked at each other, horrified, and Granny Bajan said, 'May the Lord forgive you, Rita.' The neighbour remained impa.s.sive, as though it was a run-of-the-mill comment that she'd heard before. And Aunt May said, 'Rita,' in a cautionary tone. Chelsea grinned maliciously while Donna simply stood there, as though half-expecting this or something similar.

I touched Donna's arm. 'Come on, love,' I said quietly. 'Let's go in now.'

With a final glance at her mother, who was still cuddling the boys, Donna came with me, and I quickly led the way up the short path to the main entrance. The door opened as we approached and Mrs Bristow appeared.

'I was just coming out,' she said, looking worried. 'Are you all right?'

I nodded. Although Mrs Bristow couldn't have heard Rita's comment, being a very experienced head she would have been aware that the meeting was not advisable at any level, and undoubtedly had had to deal with similar situations with looked-after children before. 'Perhaps I could have a word with you once I've got Donna settled,' I said.

Mrs Bristow nodded, but she was still anxiously watching Ray and Mary through the window in reception. They were trying to persuade the boys away from Rita. After another few moments the boys broke away and ran down the path and round the side of the building towards the playground, followed by Ray and Mary. Rita and her gathering slowly turned and wandered off.

Mrs Bristow let out a quiet sigh of relief and returned her attention to us. 'It's lovely to see you, Donna, and to see you again, Cathy.' We shook hands, and she gave Donna a hug. 'Edna has given me your contact details,' she said to me. 'And I understand you want to buy Donna a new uniform.' She smiled at Donna. 'That will be nice, won't it?'

'Yes,' I said and I smiled too, hoping that an entire new school uniform might in some small way be recompense for her mother's atrocious rejection and comment. I was still appalled and shaken by what I had just seen and heard; I would obviously be logging the details and my observations in my notes when I returned home, and also making Edna aware of it.

Mrs Bristow took us through to the office. Kay, the school secretary, remembered me; we exchanged greetings and she too gave Donna a big hug. 'Good to see you again, Donna,' she said, 'and looking so well.' Kay was lovely, warm and welcoming, exactly what a school secretary should be. I guessed she had a soft spot for Donna and her brothers, as she had done for the last child I'd looked after who had gone to the school. Edna had said that Donna liked school very much; clearly school had been her lifeline. For so many children who have appalling home lives, school is often the one place that can be relied upon to be constant, safe and secure.

Mrs Bristow left us and said she would be back later when I had sorted out the uniform. Kay took us through to the stock room, where I bought two school sweatshirts, three T-shirts to go underneath, two skirts, PE kit and a bag to put the kit in, together with another bag for Donna's reading book and homework; all of it was navy, with the school's logo in red.

Donna changed into the uniform, and Kay and I said how smart she looked; Donna dismissed the compliment with her usual self-effacing shrug. Kay gave me a carrier bag for the clothes Donna had changed out of, and we returned with Kay to the office, where I wrote a cheque for the uniform and accessories. Foster carers receive a grant to cover most of the cost of a new uniform. The bell had rung and Kay suggested Donna now went straight through to join her cla.s.s. I gave Donna a hug, told her again how smart she looked and said I would be waiting in the playground for her at the end of school. I watched her disappear through the door that would take her to the cla.s.sroom.

'Poor kid,' Kay said once Donna had left us.

'Yes,' I agreed. 'And do you know what her mother said to her?' I was fuming, at last able to give vent to my fury. 'I can't believe it!'

'I can guess,' Kay said dryly.

'I won't repeat it, but it was foul.'

Kay nodded, and by her expression I could see that she had probably had similar dealings with Rita. 'It's the drink,' she said.

I said nothing; drink or not, it was a dreadful expression to use, especially to a child. I considered it the worst of all swear words, and for a mother to use it to her daughter was abominable.

Kay sorted out and gave me various printed sheets - a list of term dates for the year, forthcoming school events and PTA activities, and a copy of the school's new prospectus. Mrs Bristow reappeared and suggested we went into her office for a quick chat. Her office was as I remembered it from five years before: carpeted in bright red, the walls adorned with children's work, and with an area with toys for young children to play while their parents talked to her.

'I'm still reeling from the way Rita spoke to Donna,' I said as we sat down in the armchairs (I couldn't remember Mrs Bristow ever sitting behind her desk - she was far too 'user-friendly'). 'You will never believe what she called Donna! And she didn't even say h.e.l.lo, let alone hug her.'

Mrs Bristow looked at me, sombre and concerned. 'Donna has been so badly treated by that family,' she said. 'I raised my fears about her and the boys when they first joined the school. I can't tell you how relieved I am that the children have finally been taken into care. Why did Donna have to leave Mary and Ray's?'

'There were some problems between her and the boys,' I said. 'I don't know all the details.' And I left it at that. If Edna hadn't seen the need to give Mrs Bristow all the details, it wasn't inc.u.mbent on me to do so. Although Mrs Bristow was a caring and highly professional head, I didn't want Donna's reputation in any way sullied at school by my describing her aggressive behaviour at her previous foster home. Donna had moved on from that and I was dealing with her aggression and other issues at my home. At school Donna could just be Donna, a ten-year-old who would improve and make the most of her education. I felt sure that if there were any issues at school in respect of Donna's behaviour then Mrs Bristow would tell me. I doubted there were, though, because, as with many children like Donna, she had been operating a double standard - between acceptable behaviour at school and what went on at home.

'I want to help Donna all I can with her school work,' I said. 'I understand she is in the year below the group for her age?'

'Yes,' Mrs Bristow confirmed. 'Donna has mild learning difficulties, but to be honest I think a lot of her poor learning ability has been a result of her home life. Now she's settled with you I'm sure she'll make huge progress.' Which was exactly my feeling. Then Mrs Bristow spent some time telling me about Donna's strengths and weaknesses in her school work, and said that she would give me a copy of Donna's PEP (Personal Education Plan), which all looked-after children have. It would help me to work alongside the school and reinforce the work her teacher was concentrating on.

'Do you think Rita will be outside the school again?' Mrs Bristow finished by asking.

'I've no idea,' I said. 'I hope not. Donna and her brothers have supervised contact on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. We can do without that every morning.'

'I'm thinking it might be better if you and Mary and Ray used the staff entrance to enter and leave by. It's at the rear of the school and is security locked. I could give you the pa.s.s number. Rita has already been warned by Edna that she is not allowed on the school premises or else I will call the police, which is presumably why she waited outside this morning and not in the playground.'

'I would appreciate that,' I said. 'It was very unpleasant for Donna. I understand Donna helps out at breakfast club, so we will be coming early in future.'

'Yes, at eight fifteen. I'll update the cla.s.s teacher, Beth Adams. She's hoping to meet you briefly at the end of school.'

Mrs Bristow wrote down the security code for the staff entrance on a piece of paper; we said goodbye and I left the building. Outside there was no sign of Rita, but then she had come to see the boys, not Donna and me.

I drove home, now even more aware of the dreadful injustice that had been inflicted on Donna by her mother, and telling myself it was little wonder Donna behaved as she did sometimes. I collected Adrian and Paula from my neighbour, and then the three of us spent a leisurely afternoon in and around the house and garden. And it would be dishonest of me not to admit that it was a lot easier to have just Adrian and Paula, and not have to be continually vigilant. However, I remained hopeful that, given time, Donna would improve to the point where I could trust her again with Adrian and Paula.

When I returned to collect Donna at the end of school, I took Adrian and Paula with me; they were keen to see Donna's school and also I didn't feel I could ask my neighbour to look after them again. They were most impressed when I drove into the staff car park, and even more so when I keyed in the security number and let us in through the staff gate. We waited in the playground with the other parents for Donna's cla.s.s to come out, and when Donna appeared and saw the three of us I thought she looked just a little bit proud. She came over and said 'Hi,' to Adrian and Paula, as other children were greeting their younger siblings.

Beth Adams, Donna's cla.s.s teacher, followed Donna out and came over and introduced herself. She was in her twenties and very pleasant; she told me she was from New Zealand, and was here on a year's contract with her husband. I said again that I wanted to help Donna with her school work, and she said she would put extra work sheets in Donna's reading folder, and also that there would be set homework, and Donna was expected to read her book every night. I thanked her for all she was doing for Donna, and the four of us then left the school by the staff entrance, with the children feeling somewhat aloof at their new elevated status.

That evening over dinner I casually asked Donna if Aunt May, whom I had met that morning, was the same aunt she had sometimes visited for her meals.

Donna nodded. 'She uses a walking stick because she's got a plastic foot. Warren used to run off with the foot and hide it.'

I smiled at this childish, if not a little unkind, prank.

Adrian giggled. 'Why has she got a plastic foot?' he asked, while Paula sat there looking nonplussed, having no idea what a plastic foot was.

''Cos her other one got burnt off when she was a baby,' Donna said. 'Her mum hung her over the fire and it got burnt off.'

We stopped eating. 'No! Surely not?' I said. 'That sounds to me like the story of Pinocchio, who sat too close to the fire.' Adrian nodded, Donna shrugged and the subject was left at that.

Later Paula asked me what a plastic foot was and I explained about prostheses and how some people didn't have limbs, without going into too much detail, which could have been upsetting for a child of six. The following day when I spoke to Edna and told her, among other things, about the 'welcoming party' at school, she confirmed Donna's account of how Aunt May had lost her foot. As a baby it had been so badly burned when her mother (who was also Rita's mother) had held May over a coal fire that it had had to be amputated. The family had a history of abuse that went back three generations.

Chapter Ten.

Tablets

The routine of our school week began in earnest the following day when I woke Adrian, Paula and Donna at 7.00 a.m., and had them dressed, washed and breakfasted and in the car by 7.50. I saw Donna into her school to help with the breakfast club at 8.15; then I drove back to Adrian and Paula's school to arrive at 8.40, which gave us ten minutes to mingle in the playground before the bell went at 8.50. In the afternoon I did the reverse, and first collected Adrian and Paula, who came out at 3.10 p.m., and then made a dash to Donna's school for her dismissal time of 3.30. This arrangement relied on Adrian and Paula coming out exactly on time, and I mentioned to Beth Adams that I might occasionally be a few minutes late, if the traffic was heavy or Adrian and Paula weren't dismissed at exactly 3.10. As it turned out, though, Donna was usually five or ten minutes late leaving the cla.s.sroom, as she was always the one who volunteered to help clear up if the room was in a mess.

'Donna likes to help so much, doesn't she?' Beth Adams commented to me after school one day. 'She'll even give up her lunchtime if something needs doing; she's always asking me for jobs to do.' I agreed, although I felt that Donna's eagerness to clean and tidy wasn't altogether healthy, and was probably a legacy of her role at her mother's when cleaning had been her responsibility. I would rather have seen her stream out with the other children, not caring a d.a.m.n about the state of the cla.s.sroom and happy to leave it to someone else.

After a few days Donna pointed out her friend Emily to me and I introduced myself to her and her mother; they were both aware Donna was in foster care. Emily's mother, Mandy, was very friendly and told me about Emily's learning difficulties, and how she really appreciated Emily having Donna as her friend - someone her own age in the same cla.s.s. I said it was important we kept their friendship going, and that I would like it very much if Emily could come to tea. Mandy agreed, but said that Emily was a little shy and asked if we could leave it until later in the term when Emily had resettled into the school routine. They were Polish and had spent the entire summer holidays in Poland, and Emily had found the transition back not an easy one. We always chatted briefly when we saw each other in the playground at the end of the school day.

On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I had to do a quick turnaround after school because of Donna's contact. As soon as we arrived home at 4.00 p.m. Donna washed and changed, and then had her evening meal, ready to leave the house again at 4.40 for contact at 5.00. I had started giving Donna her evening meal before contact, as Edna had said that Donna was 'pigging out' on the biscuits at contact because she was hungry, and then feeling sick. Indeed, on more than one occasion when I'd collected her we'd had to drive home with the car window open as she had felt so rough, and then she hadn't wanted her dinner. On these evenings Paula, Adrian and I ate when we returned from taking Donna to contact and before we had to get back into the car to collect her. It was a rush, but Adrian and Paula had grown up being herded in and out of the car for contact, as do other children of foster carers. Contact always takes priority, even to the extent of rearranging and sometimes cancelling one's own appointments.

Our routine of school continued and accelerated towards the half-term holiday in October. The evenings vanished, for apart from the contact, which dominated three of the evenings, there was homework to be done, the evening meal to be cooked and eaten, baths to be had and the children's favourite television programmes to be watched, before we began the bedtime routine. I maintained my vigilance with Donna whenever she was with Adrian, and particularly when she was with Paula, for while we hadn't had another incident of Donna actually hitting Paula, Donna would still try to dominate and chastise Paula and tell her what to do, often repeating my instructions with a lot more authority than I had given them. So if I said to Paula, 'Come on, it's time to do your reading,' Donna would echo, 'Your mother told you to do your reading. Now!' To which I would gently reply, 'It's OK, Donna, I'll tell Paula. You don't have to, love.' I suppose Donna felt chastis.e.m.e.nt was part of the role of looking after younger siblings, which it had been when she'd been living at home. I hoped that this behaviour, like others, would diminish over time.

I continued to monitor Donna's washing: when she had a bath or went to the toilet I stood on the landing, listening for any sound that might have suggested she was washing with more vigour than she should - trying to rub her skin colour off again; although having removed the nailbrushes and pumice stone I felt there was less chance of her doing real damage to herself with the sponge and flannels that were left. I also remained concerned about Donna's poor self-image - not only in respect of her dual heritage but also with her self-esteem in general, which was non-existent. Mrs Bristow a.s.sured me that she was already seeing positive changes in Donna and felt that she was gaining confidence. Her teachers and I praised Donna at every opportunity. I continued to give Donna little jobs to do in the house so that she felt she was helping, but I was gradually reducing these, hoping to wean her off her need for drudgery and subservience. When she performed a task her manner was so servile it was uncomfortable to watch. However, Donna wasn't ready to let go of this role yet, and in order to exorcise her compulsion she discovered a new behaviour which was quite bizarre.

I went up to her bedroom one day to find the whole room littered with hundreds of tiny bits of paper torn from old magazines, which she had bought with her pocket money.

'That's a right mess,' I said, not best pleased. 'And I've only just vacuumed.' The tiny bits of paper were everywhere - all over the floor, the bed, the bookshelves and every available surface.

'I'm going to clean it up,' she said laboriously, and immediately dropped onto all fours and began steadily picking up the tiny sc.r.a.ps of paper. Half an hour later the room was spotless again.

After that it became a regular pursuit: Donna spending thirty minutes tearing up the paper and then another thirty minutes clearing it up. When she had exhausted her own supply of magazines or drawing paper, she asked me if she could have the old newspapers, which I reluctantly gave her. I wasn't at all sure I should be encouraging this, for it seemed it could be reinforcing exactly the behaviour I was trying to persuade her out of - cleaning. I talked to Edna and Jill about it and they both thought that it was a pretty harmless way of her acting out her role from the past, and as long as it didn't escalate, to let her continue. They said that it should slowly disappear over time, but that if it didn't then it could be addressed at therapy when it was started after the final court hearing in May. I asked them if I should let her do more in the house, as it seemed to me that I might have caused this new development by stopping a lot of her 'housework', but they said no, it would be a retrogressive step, and I was handling it correctly. I told Adrian and Paula not to say anything or laugh if Donna's bedroom door was open and they saw her tearing up or picking up the paper for this was her way of dealing with her past.

'She can clean my room,' Adrian said to me with a cheeky grin.

'Absolutely not,' I said. 'That's your job.' But I knew Donna would have done it if he'd asked.

Apart from the times when Donna tried to tell Paula what to do or chastise her, she remained very quiet and compliant - too much so, I thought. Her voice was always flat and expressionless, even when there was a treat to be enjoyed, as though she didn't dare express any excitement or pleasure. I was sure, as Mary had been, that Donna was internalising a lot of her pain, frustration and anger, and that at some point it would explode.

I was right, and it happened in October, during the week's half-term holiday from school.

Donna's contact continued during half term, so I had to make sure that when we went out for the day on Monday, Wednesday and Friday we were back home relatively early. On Tuesday, when we weren't constrained by contact times, I took the opportunity of having a full day out, and we visited a theme park, which was about an hour's drive away. It was an excellent day, and I knew that Donna had enjoyed it as much as she could enjoy anything, although she hadn't said much and had needed a lot of persuasion to go on the rides.

On the way home Donna reminded me that she had contact the following day. 'I know, love,' I said. 'Don't worry, I won't forget.' She then said that her dad would be going and that he had been there on Monday. Her father had made intermittent appearances at contact, about every fourth one. I had never met Mr Bajan, but I knew he was the only one in the immediate family who hadn't abused Donna, and that his illness - paranoid schizophrenia - prevented him from taking a more prominent role in her life.

'He hasn't been taking his medication,' Donna said reflectively a short while later. 'I told him on Monday to take it. Otherwise Edna will have him locked up.' Donna was referring to her father being sectioned under the Mental Health Act, which seemed to happen a couple of times a year when he stopped taking his medication and began behaving irrationally and sometimes violently.

I glanced at Donna in the rear-view mirror. 'Edna doesn't have him locked up,' I said. 'When your dad doesn't take his tablets he can't cope, so he is taken into hospital. The doctors make sure he has his medicine and then he is well enough to go home again. Don't you worry: I'm sure Edna or your mum will tell him.'

Donna didn't say anything more in the car, but having been responsible for making sure her dad took his medication when she had been at home, she had clearly recognised the signs of him not having taken it, and this was proved the following day.

On Wednesday I took Donna to contact at 5.00 p.m., and I had just returned home when I got a phone call from Edna saying she was terminating contact immediately, and could I collect Donna straight away? Edna spoke quickly and anxiously - a sharp contrast to her usual calm and rea.s.suring manner. She said she'd called the police and an ambulance for Mr Bajan, and that I should wait in the car outside the social services offices and Donna would be brought out to me. I told Adrian and Paula that Donna's father had been taken ill at contact, and we were going to collect her early, and to put on their shoes, which they had only just taken off. With mounting anxiety and no idea what to expect, I drove back to the offices in Belfont Road. As I turned into the road I saw two police cars and an ambulance parked on the forecourt at the front of the building. I pulled into the kerb a little way back and turned off the engine.

'Why are the police here?' Adrian asked.

'I think it's in case the ambulance crew need help,' I said, leaving it at that. I knew that sometimes schizophrenics could suffer from delusional hallucinations and become violent, but to talk about that to the children would have been frightening.

We sat in the car for about ten minutes, and I was expecting to see Donna appear at any minute with Edna. Instead, after another few minutes the front door of the building suddenly burst open and, as we looked, two uniformed police officers came out, followed by another two, with a man I took to be Donna's father struggling between them. They were holding an arm each. He was a large man and appeared to be very strong. He was shouting and struggling, and trying to fight off the demons that clearly plagued him. 'f.u.c.k off ! f.u.c.k off ! I've told you! I'll have you crucified like him!' he yelled. He pulled and wrenched from side to side, and it was clear that it was all the officers either side of him could do to restrain him and stop him from breaking free. The officers were talking to him quietly, perhaps trying to rea.s.sure him, but I doubted he could hear over the noise of his shouting and wailing.

Behind them came the ambulance crew: two paramedics, one male and one female. There was no sign of Edna, Donna, Rita, Chelsea or the boys, all of whom had attended contact. Adrian, Paula and I watched, mesmerised and horrified by the scene. The female paramedic opened the ambulance doors and lowered the steps.

'Oh no! On no! Oh no!' Mr Bajan wailed. It was truly pitiful and frightening to watch. He struggled and cried out, pulling back from the steps of the ambulance. I thought that when he was well he would have the same dignity as his mother, for despite his illness he seemed a proud man and was smartly dressed in grey trousers and an open-neck shirt.

Adrian was at his side window, enthralled and appalled by what he was witnessing. Paula had slunk low in her seat with her hands pressed over her ears. 'He'll be all right. Don't worry,' I said, trying to rea.s.sure them, although I could feel my own heart racing; it was very upsetting. A young couple walking along the street hesitated, and then ran past the end of the forecourt.

Mr Bajan continued shouting as the two police officers guided him to the foot of the ambulance steps, ready to climb up, and then he set up the most dreadful wail. I could see his face contorted with pain and anger as he tried to fight off his internal tormentors. His skin ran with sweat and his eyes bulged. No wonder in bygone days it was thought the mentally ill were possessed. The poor man looked as though he was at the mercy of some unseen evil spirit that was h.e.l.l-bent on destroying him and would stop at nothing to achieve it.

The other two officers helped, and it took all four of them to slowly manoeuvre Mr Bajan up the two steps and into the ambulance. The paramedics followed them in and closed the rear doors. I don't know what happened then; I a.s.sumed he was sedated, because a few minutes later the rear doors of the ambulance opened and all four police officers came out, together with the female paramedic, and it was quiet inside. She closed the ambulance doors and said something to the police officers; then she went to the driver's door of the ambulance and got in. Two of the officers got in one of the police cars, while the other two returned inside the building. The ambulance and police car pulled away from the forecourt and left with their blue lights flashing and sirens wailing.

'Cor,' Adrian said, impressed by the ambulance, as any boy his age would be.

I turned again to Paula in the back. 'It's OK, love. You can take your hands down now.'

She slowly lowered her hands from her ears. 'I don't like shouting,' she said in a small voice.

'No, I know. It's all right now. Mr Bajan was very upset and they are taking him to the hospital. The doctors will make him better.'

We sat in subdued silence for another ten minutes; then Edna appeared with Donna. She saw my car and, as she came over, I got out and stood on the pavement. I could see that Edna was maintaining a calm facade for Donna's sake, but her anxiety showed in her face. She was talking quietly to Donna as they approached, and Donna looked deathly pale.

'I'll phone you later,' Edna said to me, 'when I've finished here. Donna's very upset and I think she just needs to get home now.' She touched Donna's arm, and I opened the rear door of the car and waited while she got in. 'I'll speak to you later, Cathy,' Edna said again anxiously. 'I've still got the boys, Rita and Chelsea inside.'

'All right, Edna. Don't worry.'

She returned into the building as I got into the car.