Cut by Cathy Glass Page B

Adrian, who was in my arms and, having had his usual evening routine disrupted for this meeting, was now becoming slightly fractious.
    ‘Shall I take him?’ Dawn asked, always eager to help me with Adrian.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘He’ll be OK. He’s just wondering where we are.’
    We were hovering in the hall with no idea where we should go, and expecting someone to come and greet us. Other than the fact that we were meeting Dawn’s social worker and mother here at 7.00 p.m., I had received no details from Ruth. John had left work early to attend the meeting, and was still in his suit, having only had time to eat dinner, but not change, before we’d left the house.
    ‘Is there an office?’ John asked Dawn.
    ‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘It’s one of the bedrooms upstairs.’ The three of us looked at the old Victorian winding staircase, which still retained the original wooden balustrades and dado rail on the wall. ‘Shall I go up and find someone?’ Dawn asked helpfully.
    ‘It might be a good idea,’ John said, and I nodded.
    Dawn disappeared up the staircase while John and I waited in the hall. The hall was cold; the single radiator was no match for the draught coming from the ill-fitting front door. I moved Adrian from one arm to the other and then John took him. Presently we heard footsteps at the top of the stairs and we both looked up. A lad of about fifteen, dressed in jeans, caterpillar boots and a denim jacket clumped down the uncarpeted stairs, passed us with a nod, and then went out of the front door.
    Another five minutes went by, during which John pacified Adrian by rocking him over his shoulder. It wasn’t the best time for a meeting – I should have been bathing Adrian, and John would have preferred to be at home, unwinding after a day’s work. Eventually more footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs and John and I again looked up. Dawn appeared first, followed by Ruth, dressed in jeans and a large baggy jumper, and another woman whom I took to be Dawn’s mother. They reached the bottom of the stairs before anyone spoke.
    ‘We’ve been trying to find a room for us to use,’ Ruth said, unapologetically. ‘This is Barbara, Dawn’s mother. Barbara, this is John and Cathy.’ I smiled at Barbara and she returned a small half smile. She was a petite woman, neatly dressed in a skirt and blouse, with bobbed fair hair, and I could see a strong resemblance to Dawn. I guessed Barbara was only in her mid-thirties, so she must have had Dawn quite young. John stepped forward and offered his hand for shaking, and Barbara looked most embarrassed as she took it.
    ‘Pleased to meet you,’ John said. Barbara smiled.
    ‘Dawn’s father won’t be coming,’ Ruth said. I nodded, although I hadn’t been aware he was even expected. ‘We can use the sitting room,’ she continued. ‘There are only two girls in the house tonight and they’re in their bedrooms.’
    Ruth led the way through a heavily panelled fire door at the end of the reception hall, and along a wide corridor. Our shoes clipped noisily over the tiled Victorian floor. The hall still had the original Anaglypta wallpaper below the dado rail, but the gloss grey paintwork was badly scarred and could have done with redecorating.
    We turned right into a room which, while warmer than the hall, was as dingy and uninviting, and reeked of stale cigarette smoke. The pale lilac painted walls were grubby, chipped, and graffitied with coloured felt tips. Most of the comments were unintelligible, apart from shit and dick head , together with a few vague attempts at drawing cartoon characters. In the centre of the room were two badly stained and faded red sofas opposite each other, either side of a long low coffee table, which was in no better condition than the sofas. At one end of the table was an overflowing ashtray and a couple of mugs containing the remnants of cold congealed coffee. There was no carpet on the floor and no curtains at the