Cut by Cathy Glass Page A

down the phone, I was still reeling from the shock. How could Dawn have lied to us all week, and so convincingly? And forge a note from me! Clearly I had been too naïve and trusting, but the little details Dawn had given me of her day at school and the new friends she had made had been so plausible. I hadn’t for one moment doubted her. Why should I? There had been no reason. I had even suggested to Dawn that she might like to invite her new friend, Mandy, home to dinner one evening. Was there a Mandy? Did she even exist? And what had Dawn been doing in her bedroom for the two hours each evening when she had said she was doing her homework? There was no television in her room, and her music hadn’t been on.
    I returned to the lounge, where Adrian was dozing in his recliner. I sat on the sofa, staring into space and thinking. I considered phoning John and telling him, but I didn’t like to disturb him at work. He was highly committed and had a lot of responsibility, and I only ever phoned if it was an emergency – the last time had been when I had gone into labour. Sometimes he phoned me in his lunch hour and I dearly hoped he would do so today. I really needed to offload what had happened, my sadness that Dawn had abused my trust and my concern for her safety.
    The afternoon passed with my heart heavy, and my thoughts chasing in all directions. I worried about what Dawn had been doing all week when she should have been in school, and what she was doing now. Where could she be? A day can be a long time if you aren’t gainfully occupied. Was she wandering the streets? Sitting in the library or a coffee shop? Or had she gone somewhere, or met someone I didn’t know about? It was the middle of winter and bitterly cold, and I worried if she was managing to keep warm, and whether she’d had anything to eat. I had given her money for school dinner, but £ 1.50 wouldn’t buy much outside the subsidised school canteen.
       
    At 2.15 p.m. the phone rang and I quickly snatched it up, hoping it was Dawn, confessing all and asking me to collect her, or even John phoning late. But it was Ruth, Dawn’s social worker.
    ‘Has she appeared yet?’ she asked bluntly.
    My sense of responsibility and guilt for Dawn’s absence soared. ‘No, she hasn’t. Do you know where she could be?’
    ‘No. We never do.’
    ‘She’s vanished for a whole day before, then?’ I asked. Ruth and Jane Matthews had said Dawn had missed school but neither had given any details.
    ‘When she was with her mother. It seems she’s up to her old tricks again. It’s a pity – I thought she might have settled with you.’
    ‘She has settled,’ I said defensively. ‘Dawn is very settled at home. I’m sure there’s an explanation. There must be.’
    Ruth said nothing, but her silence said it all. She clearly thought me naïve, and my confidence in Dawn misplaced. ‘We can but hope,’ Ruth added dryly. ‘Doubtless she’ll stroll in when it suits her with a very good explanation. Whether it’s true or not I’ll leave it to your judgement. Have you given her pocket money?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘All of it?’
    ‘Yes. Was that wrong?’
    ‘It might be better in future if you gave her a little at the end of each day, as part of a reward system. We’ll discuss it. I’ve set up a meeting for next Tuesday so that you and your husband can meet Dawn’s mother. Bring Dawn with you and we can draw up a contract of good behaviour.’
    ‘All right, next Tuesday,’ I said, more concerned with Dawn’s safety than a meeting.
    ‘It’s at the teenage unit at seven o’clock.’
    ‘We’ll be there,’ I confirmed. ‘Shall I phone you when Dawn comes home?’
    ‘Only if there’s a problem. Otherwise we’ll discuss it at the meeting.’
    We said goodbye and I hung up. I took my diary from my handbag and made a note of the meeting. I couldn’t settle to anything for the rest of the afternoon. I watched the clock, wondered where on earth Dawn could be,