How much horror can somebody take before the weight of it becomes so intolerable the person will snap? Fiona and Steven had never thought of asking that question three years ago, but now they were asking it.
That reason came because of the woman with the strict-looking face, Angela Marshall, who by looking at her — Steven guessed her age was somewhere in her late forties. But you couldn't tell that from her hair on top, deathly white. And her bombshell. She was from Manchester city council, a social worker.
'This is a joke, right?'
'I'm afraid not. I'm here on good authority.'
'What authority.' Fiona asked. The surrounding stage didn't look good. The security guard, the police officer.
'I think it would be best if we spoke more privately. There's a meeting room we can use.'
Why couldn't the dumb bitch do that before, instead of barging in like a female wrestler with her crew on hand?
'Probably because the power has gone to her head.' Fiona thought to herself. And for a second, her eyes scoured the social worker, noticing the calm sea on her face. She was like a machine. There was no expression on her face, only a sham-painted smile.
'Sure.'
Fiona and Steven had to consent. It didn't matter. The people waiting around, they had to play the game. But Steven did mention under his breath; all this drama could have been done more privately. He felt embarrassed and nervous. Something was definitely wrong, and for once, it had nothing to do with the old man.
Walking down the corridor, they went into a lift and the social worker, prone to all this, tapped the second-floor button.
'Won't be long now.'
Was that hope in her voice, the melody of cheerful songs. It better not be.
A yellow light sprung up on the number two button, and doors hissed open.
He and Fiona were taken to the meeting room. Inside, it was cosy enough; a circular table with armchairs around it.
'Before we begin, I just like to.'
'Do, they really have to be here.' Steven jumped in, pointing his finger at the police officer and the guard. 'We're not going to do anything. We just want to know what's happening with the girls.'
The social worker said okay, and the two men in the dark uniforms with the visor jackets left the room.
'Now, as I was saying. My name is Angela Marshall, and I'm from Manchester city council.'
'You're a social worker, aren't you?'
'That's correct, I am.'
With all this shit going on, Fiona could do with a stiff drink. Fuck that, the bottle. 'I don't get this. Why should we need a social worker?'
'I'm not here for you. I'm here for your children.'
'My what? 'Fiona exploded, shooting up. 'You think we're abusing our children.'
'Nobody is saying that, but the nurse who examined Harmony was concerned.'
'Why.' Fiona wanted to know. Had the nurse come across something during the examination? Of course, she had. Why else would somebody who worked for the children's department be here?
'If you wouldn't mind sitting down. I'm sure we can sort this out.'
'No, I don't want to sit down; I just want to see my children.'
'I'm afraid that won't be possible.' The social worker said, her eyes just for a moment, filling up with sympathy, but it went quickly away.
Fiona darted her eyes at Steven. 'Say something.'
But Steven couldn't. It was as though somebody had closed his mouth shut forever.
'I think it would be best if we all sat down.'
'I've told you already, I don't want to sit down; I just want to see my children.' Fiona said; a second time. And again, she looked over at Steven, hoping he would say something.
But Steven couldn't. He could only listen.
'As you know, I'm from the children's department.'
'You said that already.'
Angela smiled. It was a smug grin. 'If we could just remain calm, that would really help. I do realise how upsetting this must be.'
'You've no idea.' Fiona said sharply. Showing no love for this stranger who went on.
'I'm here because the hospital got in contact.'
'After midnight?'
Fiona was surprised by the words spoken, and only now did she realise how grave the situation was. Not that she didn't know beforehand, but Angela's presence gave weight to that pressing issue.
'They phone the emergency number.'
'But why?' Steven suddenly asked. His eyes never leaving the social worker.
'Because on your daughter's body, the nurse who examined her found bruising and bite marks. Not to mention around your daughter's throat vital signs. She had been strangled.'
'And you think we did that?'
'Nobody is saying you did, but because of these findings, I can only speculate that malpractice might be the reason for these injuries. And under the child protection act 2004. By state law, we have to be notified.'
The old man suddenly popped into Steven's head. That bastard, he thought.
Angela, with a briefcase resting on her lap, spoke curtly and to the point.
'Because of these allegations, I'm afraid that we have no choice — but to take your children into care.'
Fiona's world suddenly came crashing down with this grim news.
Because with everything she had gone through with her family. This had to be the worse. A complete stranger, breaking them up. It wasn't fair; it wasn't right.
'Please ...'
Fiona went to speak more, but she couldn't. The tears were already choking her. She was crying with a lump in her throat. It was a painful sound. One that Steven couldn't ignore, and he held her.
'It's all a job to you cunts, ain't it.' Steven spoke, his eyes bulging with anger. A part of him wanted to take a swing at the social worker, but taking that course of action wouldn't help the situation. And raising your hand to a woman was cowardly work.
'I know you're both upset. I understand that. I really do.'
A cry of desperation sprung up in Fiona's voice as though she were standing at the edge of a cliff and her captor was about to push her down. 'Can't we just see them?'
'I'm afraid that is out of the question.' No mercy from the social worker, no lifeline, nothing.
'Do you even have kids?'
'I'm not obliged to answer that question.'
Fiona answered the question for her.
'No, you don't, because if you did — you wouldn't be doing this. You'd been going after those who really do hurt their children.'
Angela said nothing to that comment. Because all this was nothing to her, seeing people angry, upset. Throughout her job, she had been called names — pushed up against walls, and threatened outside her workplace. Of course, she would try to see the parents' anger, but how could she? She wasn't a parent.
'Your children, at the moment, are both doing well. And they're being looked after.'
'And Harmony?'
'She is resting and will stay overnight. And if we might now speak about alternative arrangements for Harmony and Katrina. Do you have any close relatives?'
Fiona and Steven turned to each other, surprised.
'I thought you were taking them into care?'
'We only do that if we can't find a suitable home.'
'My mum could look after them. She only works part-time.' Steven said.
'Do you have a contact number?'
'Yeah, it's on my phone.'
'Can I have it, please?'
Steven took out his mobile and read out his mum's number.
'Do you think she'll be up?'
'Yeah, she doesn't sleep like normal people.'
Angela smiled and explained the situation to Steven's mum.
'She wants to speak to you.'
Steven spoke to his mum. The conversation wasn't much to write home about. Just that Fiona wasn't okay. And hopefully, all this would get sorted out.
Giving the phone back to Angela, the social worker explained what would happen next.
'Because of the high-risk situation involving your children, while my colleagues and I are making our inquirers, you won't be allowed to speak with your children or have any contact with them.'
'What if something happens to one of them?' Fiona asked, thinking about the situation in her home.
'If something happens to your children, we will get in contact.'
'Can I at least say goodbye to them?' Fiona asked for the third time.
Angela shook her head. 'I'm afraid that is still out of the question, and in the meantime, I will have to take Katrina to your parents and then tomorrow take Harmony there.
'You mean we can't even say goodbye?' Steven said.
'I'm afraid that's correct. Where does your mum live?'
'Not far. She lives.' Steven gave the social worker his mum's home address. Angela said thank you.
'What happens next?'
'You will be asked to go down to your local police station.'
'What for?'
'To give a statement.'
'A statement? What the hell for?' All this was getting out of hand, the police getting involved, and Fiona wished now she had sat outside the bathroom door. At least that way, if there was a fraction of danger, the slightest hint, she would be there, ready.
'Because of the allegations; it's a normal procedure.'
Allegations, routine, procedure, Fiona wanted to take a sledgehammer to those damn fucking words and smash them to pieces.
'I need to get out of here.'
Steven looked at Fiona. She was starting to cry again. He couldn't blame her.
Living your life on the edge was one thing — but to have your children taken away because people believed you would harm them was something else entirely.
'Can we just go?' Steven asked.
'Unless there is anything you want to ask me?'
'The children's school.'
'They will be informed.'
Steven said. 'Right.' And he held Fiona. Who was still crying, sobbing on his chest!
They both left the hospital; said nothing on the way back home.
When they arrived home, Steven heard Fiona sobbing in the kitchen.
He had known the woman since the age of seventeen, and this was the first time he had heard her crying, and not just weeping, but ripping her heart out.
He tried to comfort her — but couldn't. All she wanted was the girls back home.
It was the early hours when Fiona went to bed, but her slumber was raped by crying in the next room.
The crying played on her emotions, and she began to weep because she recognised it.
'Steven.'
'I know, babe. I can hear it.'
It was the old man pretending to be their children.
'Please, we want to come home. Mummy, please.'