Broken Wings 49

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CHAPTER 49
I understood her sudden stop, so I left it there. As long as she could make it, I would be more than satisfied. I started the usual process of checking for any new gear we would need, such as boots, and ran the idea past Nita. She was in a dark mood when we met up at Tesco’s, as I took a break in their store café.

“Heidi is furious, Deb. Absolutely livid, and I think she is looking for a disciplinary against the lazy cow”

I really didn’t want to dwell on it, but I couldn’t help feeling that I owed Nita and Heidi more than just the courtesy of listening to their complaints.

“You able to share it, Nita?”

She sighed, putting down her cup a little too sharply, some of her coffee spilling into the saucer. As she set a paper napkin under the cup, she spoke without looking at me.

“I was never a social worker, Debbie, but a copper”

“I know that. How we met, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. What I do now, well, never wanted to do the social work bit, but it seeps in. Been Heidi’s life for too long, and I know she’s said it to you, because she says it to everyone. Get it wrong, and they’re on you like a ton of bricks. Get it right, stop the harm ever happening, and it’s the same thing. Like being a referee”

“What?”

She looked up at me then, with a hint of a grin.

“Referee mike, in rugby, aye? I heard one of them once, I think it was Norling, and he said something like ‘Number Eight, don’t even think about doing what I know you’re thinking’, and that is good reffing, knowing the players, knowing the game, stopping the crap before it gets started. The players, the fans, they understand that. With Heidi’s lot, they don’t. Unless they can see a reason to intervene, then they criticise. If she waits until there’s a reason, we end up down the hospital, and the same people want to know why she didn’t stop it earlier. Can’t bloody win. This has gone cold. Want a refill?”

I just nodded, recognising her need to vent, or at least share some common humanity, and once she was back with the two fresh cups, she started again.

“Kid, Andrea, she was in and out of places before Heidi got her. Someone, somewhere, got wind of what we were doing with trans girls, you and us, and thought they’d get one off the books. Like selling a second-hand car, it was. Disguise the rust and the scratches, get shot of it ASAP, not their problem now, is it? Lots of stuff filtered in the referral, promises of the full file following along as soon as it was signed off, just need somewhere to keep Andrea safe, etc. They were hoping that it would all be Heidi’s problem by the time the paperwork caught up, and now it’s nobody’s bloody problem. Not anymore”

I took her hand, and she squeezed mine hard.

“That’s where we cling to you, girl. The one who made it, the one I sort of got right. If you can make it, who better to lead others into the light? Anyway, enough. Heidi will skin the lazy sod, and you have another trip planned. Want to talk me through it?”

“Ah, my usual place, but not camping this time. Friend of a friend has a deal on Plas Y Brenin”

“Hmm. That’ll cost a bit. Want me to tee up the education people? Look for a one-off grant?”

“If you can, but we’re still going, grant or not”

That last brought a true smile, and I saw her own light in it.

“I would expect no less from you, Debbie. One day I may join you up there, try and make some better memories. I think your lorry should be empty by now. Many more deliveries to do today?”

“Two more, then done. I’m on the longer runs next week, bit more relaxing”

“Then keep me up to speed. If we can avoid any further… Just do your best, and Andrea wasn’t your fault. Heidi will sort that one, OK?”

She was gone, a little chink in her hard shell exposed for an instant, and I collected my empty wagon for the run back to Fratelli’s and another loaded trailer.

The girls were noisy on the long drive up, as we once more took a detour through England for its faster roads. After Llangollen and Dinas Bran, the roads got much more scenic, and I was hearing several oohs and ahs from those who had never seen the hills before.

“Debbie?”

“Yes, Kim?”

“Can we do the stop by that pub again, if the clouds are right? Where you first see all the hills?”

“Geeler Arms? Yup, I think so. You want to do the tour guide thing?”

“Already am, woman! Can’t have our driver distracted, can we?”

I found myself chuckling at her cockiness, but that fight and determination had shown itself on our first meeting, so no surprises there.

“How’s Phil?”

“Um, he’s got a place at Cardiff. Media studies. Wants to go into journalism. Chat when we stop, OK?”

Along the undulating and scary straight, watching for bloody stupid overtaking from oncoming idiots, and onto the verge by the road to the pub. Kim had been right, and the clouds were sitting high enough to see all the bits of Snowdonia I knew spread out before us like a buffet. Once she had talked them through the names and heights of the peaks, she drifted back to me for the chat she had mentioned. I raised an eyebrow.

“So. Phil, then?”

“Yeah. Got his place, but he wants to live in, not stay with his parents. Wants to be free to, you know, live a bit”

“Not have his parents complaining when he comes home pissed?”

“Yeah. That. And… And be able to have visitors that don’t have to go home when his Mam starts looking at the clock in a significant way”

“Ah. And these visitors, they would actually be one visitor. Would be you, in fact?”

She dropped her eyes, kicking a loose stone across the road.

“Yeah. And before you say anything, he knows about me”

“And he doesn’t care about that?”

“Course he cares, but he says he cares about me, and that means he can deal with… Debbie?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve been dealing with it, that bit, for a month now. And I think it’s working for both of us. Am I being stupid, do you think?”

I wrestled down the immediate surges of memory, of Cooper, and Carl, to find a smile underneath.

“No, not stupid at all, love. He’s a good lad. Just be careful, OK?”

She nodded, and came in for the inevitable hug, before whispering in my ear.

“Oh, and when I say it’s working for us, well, shit, it is working bloody well that way!”

A peck on the cheek, and she was off to the others to herd them back on board for the last leg.

Betws was busy, but once we had escaped the main street, we were into lighter traffic all the way to Capel Curig, where a chorus of gasps and wows followed the appearance of the view of Cwm Dyli across the twin lakes. I pulled up in front of the Pinnacle Café and gave Pat a ring; ten minutes later, she was at the van offering more hugs and a broad smile for everyone, another woman in tow. Kim took over.

“Girls, this is Pat, a really good friend of Debbie and me. She’s the one who sorted out where we are all staying, so be nice to her!”

The older woman took a little bow, before pointing down the road.

“The Centre is just down there, and Debbie and I have our own little place to stay. There is a pub THAT way that I fully intend to visit at seven-thirty tonight, so we shall get settled in straight away. This is Sue, a friend of mine, and she will show you all where to drop your stuff. She is happy to drive the van, Deb. Part of her job here”

Sod it, I thought, only a few hundred yards, and my legs ached. I pulled my bags out, watched the van recede down the road to the Centre, and then followed Pat a little way down the same road until we found a right turn to a group of cottages. Pat led us to the front door of one, grinning happily.

“Tea should be brewed by now, love!”

It was indeed, and those responsible were Nell and Cathy, so the hugs and the smiles went on for quite a while. I frowned at Pat over Cathy’s shoulder.

“Two bedrooms, you said”

“Ah, they’re students. Sleeping mats and bags in the living room, beds for us. Now, we all know what happened. Are you OK?”

I started to say something facile, and Cathy gave me a little shake.

“No silliness, Debbie. Are you OK?”

In the end, I just shook my head.

“No, not really, but this is probably the best place to get better. Girls are all excited, which will take my mind off the… off things. What’s planned?”

Nell brought out a brochure.

“We came up two days ago, stayed in the Stagecoach pub till Pat got here. Had time to look at what they offer, but to be honest, I think we can do our own thing as well”

Pat was nodding.

“Sue’s done us a bundle, with a few courses thrown in, including on the ski slope. Rest of the time it will be the same old same old for us. Then again, I think some of you already know your way around. I would like to do a group walk up to the Snowdon summit, on the Pyg Track”

“Not Crib Goch, then?”

“No. You want them to come back again, don’t you? And girls: Debbie and I have one trip to do on our own, if you don’t mind. Tonight, though, it’s the Bryn, and let them burn some energy off”

The Bryn it was, and once more it felt like coming home. Pat was straight to the bar to order a pint for the woolly-hatted shepherd in the other room, who looked up in surprise as it was placed before him, then grinned in delight as he spotted my friend. The food was as good as ever, the beer as tasty, and I even got a nod of recognition, and perhaps thanks, from a certain miserable sod with a ginger ponytail, who was sitting in his usual place as far from anyone else as he could manage. That reminded me to ask about any music that might be on down Bethesda.

So many memories were tied up there, and three days later I did my best to help ease one of them, as Pat and I snuggled up together in our bags as the light faded on Foel Grach, and she wept into my fleece.

“Debbie?”

“Yes, love?”

“Those girls. Thank you. It helps me a lot, making better memories. I just hope you can do the same one day”

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Yeah

joannebarbarella's picture

We're going through all that shit in Queensland right now. When the Child Services get it wrong the gutter press (Murdoch) jump all over them. If they get it right nothing is ever heard. You wonder why anyone would ever want to go into social service.

You do manage to wind me up with your story (ies) because you make me care about your people.

My people

Not being delusional, but as I have said so many times, I do my best to make them live for me, and then they write themselves.

People have all sorts of issues about social workers, and like every profession they have good'uns and baddies. The problem is as you describe: when they break up a loving family (YMMV) before a child ends up dead, they are evil. When they don't break up said loving family, then the dead child is their fault.

One thing should be considered in my stories, though, and that is something that might be missed. Stevie Elliott in Sweat and Tears was packed off to hell on Earth by social workers, as was Debbie. They don't make more than a fleeting appearance, because they simply don't care. The ones I do develop aren't in the story because I want to write saintly SWs but because only the dedicated hang around long enough to catch the attention. Nita and Heidi care about their work; if they didn't, the job would have been handed on.

I could write about some real-life horror stories caused by SWs. Not here, though.

Social workers?

As a title or a job description, I don't think the jobs existed as such way, way back in 1952. My first experience of 'care' was Walton and that was a residential children's psychiatric unit at one of the biggest 'loony-bins' in England. Social workers they were NOT! Psychiatrists, doctors, nurses and therapists were the words flung around back then.

Then next, I ended up in Thomas More unit for Naughty Catholic boys (I was never a catholic) I have since learned that it was not a borstal technically but it was in all but name. The staff were supposedly teachers but in effect they were more like wardens and I never had any proper academic lessons. As far as I could discern, most were ex-military, lazy bullies but it didn't pay to ask about their previous careers. Also being diagnosed as a pervert did not endear me to any staff.

In the narrow technical sense I cannot claim to have ever associated with so-called social workers. Something worse though? Definitely!

Did they ever get stuff right for me? I don't know, I never found a suitably accurate yardstick until the Merchant Navy and by that time it was immaterial. The 'Merch-' had absolutely nothing to do with child care.

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