No Child of Mine by Susan Lewis

cream and there’s far too much for us to eat on our own. Will you come and have some with us?’
    Tensing for the ‘eff off,’ or ‘no effing way,’ Alex waspleasantly surprised when Daniel said belligerently, ‘What do you mean, you made ice cream? I thought it came from a shop or a van.’
    ‘Maggie makes the most delicious ice cream,’ Mei told him gushingly.
    Alex could tell that Daniel wasn’t warming to Mei.
    ‘I can vouch for that,’ a tall, jug-eared man with half-moon specs and a snowy white beard declared as he came out to join them. ‘Hello, young man, I’m Ronald, but you can call me Ron if you like, most of my friends do. I hear you’re going to be staying with us for a while.’
    Daniel eyed Ron Fenn warily.
    ‘You can have your own room if you like,’ Maggie informed him. ‘Or if you and Oliver get along together ... Speaking of whom, where is he?’
    As a small, frightened figure with a mop of shiny dark hair appeared in the doorway, Alex felt torn between pity and dismay. He was so tiny and looked so defenceless that she found herself worrying again about how well Daniel would treat him. She dreaded to think of him being cruel or trying to corrupt Oliver in some way. It was likely to happen, though, it often did amongst children in care – the weakest were preyed upon, used, even abused, and eventually turned into feral little creatures fighting for their lives.
    On the other hand, Daniel was just a child too, and in every bit as much in need of kindness and understanding as Oliver, whether he wanted it or not. It looked as though he might get it here, but just for a while, until he was moved elsewhere. What would happen to him then?
    Knowing she’d have to worry about that later, she put a hand on his shoulder and followed the Fenns inside. As soon as he was settled, she’d get Ben to drop her at the infirmary to check on Kylie, then she’d have to get the bus back to the office since she’d left her car there. Hopefully she’d be in time for a strategy meeting with an Ethiopian family who, mercifully, were welcoming the support of social services.
    Sadly, not everyone was so receptive; many were actively hostile, especially in her area. But as frustrating and evendevastating as her work could be at times, she’d never give up on the children who needed her protection.
    Not ever.
    Erica Wade was staring from the window of her tired-looking house on North Hill. It had once been a grand Victorian dwelling with smartly painted walls and windows, a garden of pleasant flowers and a welcoming driveway. It stood in its own grounds, surrounded by tall hedges, and dwarfed from behind by a towering maple. It was the kind of place a reasonably distinguished family might once have felt proud to call home.
    Though Erica’s grey eyes were directed towards the end of the short drive where a dilapidated gate was open and partially lost amidst the crowding bushes, she wasn’t seeing it. Nor was she registering the brave, sun-seeking blooms springing from a tangle of shrubs and weeds that skirted the overgrown lawn. A dropping cherry tree was casting dappled shadows over an open-fronted playhouse and doll’s pram, but she wasn’t noticing that either.
    Once in a while her gaze seemed to catch on one of the cars or lorries tearing up and down the hill outside, as though trying in a ghostlike way to travel away with them. Almost no one walked past the house. Her neighbours came and went from the stately B & B next door, never staying for more than a night or two. The same with the purpose-built holiday apartments the other side, and across the four-lane road.
    It wasn’t possible to glimpse the sea from here, the house was on the wrong side of the hill, but it took no more than a minute to walk to the top and from there the vistas down over Kesterly Bay and out into the estuary were impressive. It was one of the many spots from which tourists and scenic photographers took their shots of the