Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1

counsellor. Why?’
‘To help people.’
‘Well join the Boy Scouts then.’ Constance took up her pen and resumed her writing. Max did not move. After a minute, she looked up. ‘Was there something else?’
Just give up. You can’t do this.
‘I want it because I was fucked up as a child. I need to understand why people behave the way they do, and yes,’ He thumped a fist on his knee, ‘Actually, I do want to help them. Is that a sin?’
The tutor replaced her pen lid and appraised Max. ‘Absolutely not. It’s the most important part. We all have our demons, Max, and the first step to becoming a good counsellor is to face them. Are you ready to do that?’
6 MAX 1985
Max’s boss in Social Services was Karen - a grim faced professional. She had seen more than a human being should see. Her job demanded impossible choices about whom to help and who was most able to survive without. Her steely expression was born, not of cynicism but of resignation. She had learned from awful experience that it was impossible to help every person, or even a tenth of those who needed it. Sometimes, in private moments, she wondered why she carried on, but she knew the answer. If one child was saved, or one care home kept open, her job was worthwhile.
She dropped a folder containing a list of local schools onto Max’s desk. ‘New initiative. School visits to educate staff about child abuse. I’d like you to arrange workshops. You know...’ She waggled her head, ‘Signs to watch out for, typical scenarios, past cases, that kind of thing.’
Max took the file, thinking how much he disliked public speaking. But he said, ‘No problem.’
A month later, he was at Riverdean Combined School in the village of Edfield. The school educated just over 300 children between the ages of five and eleven. The staff, mainly women, were full of attention after their half term break.
‘This is not a great start to the term, but we can’t escape the facts. Hopefully, when you understand the warning signs, you will be better able to spot the vulnerable children in your community.’ Max scanned the teachers and lunchtime supervisors. Some nodded solemnly, others shook their heads. He continued, ‘By community, I mean this place - your school.’
It was probable that a child in this school was suffering at the hands of an abusive parent: an addict or even someone with no excuse, someone evil.
In this middle-class village, most children would be well-behaved, polite, and easy to teach. This meant the conduct of the vulnerable ones might be distinctive.
He detailed the danger signs to staff: erratic or extreme behaviour, bruising, broken bones, unusual sexual attitude, an unhealthy appetite and/or weight loss. As he related past cases, he noticed a restlessness in his audience and paused. ‘Is anything wrong?’
A woman at the back raised her hand. ‘We have a child here. A girl in year three. Her parents are well regarded in the village. He’s chairman of the Parish Council and she’s a bit of a mover and shaker and on the Board of Governors here, at Riverdean. It’s difficult, actually.’
Max said, ‘It often is.’
Other members of staff nodded their agreement, and the Headmaster looked thunderstruck. Max gave the brave teacher a mental ten out of ten for sticking out her neck.
After the meeting, he met with the Head, who agreed to report the details of Emily’s case.
~~~
Seven-year-old Emily MacIntosh, withdrawn and pale, was wasting away. Her mother seemed worried about her ‘baby’s’ health, always sending in little titbits to encourage her to eat something. The child’s lunch box rarely contained much because she, ‘Couldn’t eat too much because of her delicate stomach.’
Later, Emily appeared at school with bruises all over her body. She was so weak she could not run and play outside. When her mother broke down with the terrible news that her baby girl had Leukaemia, and that Emily’s bruising was caused by chemotherapy everyone in the community was shocked, but at least, they thought, she had received a diagnosis..
Max asked if the school had confirmed the diagnosis with the child’s GP. They had not.
On enquiry, it emerged that the GP had no record of a diagnosis of Leukaemia. His examination of the child exposed the shocking truth: The mother had lied. She made up a complex story of her daughter’s illness, while starving and beating the child almost to death. Even her husband had believed his child to be dying of cancer.
Emily entered the foster care system. Mr MacIntosh resigned from the Parish Council and Mrs MacIntosh received a fifteen-year sentence.
~~~
Delighted her idea had been so successful, Max’s boss patted him on the shoulder and said, ‘Good job Max.’ Her praise did not uplift him. The case of Emily and her mother, Vicky Mackintosh, reminded him of Claudine: basking in the public eye and adored by her fans, while (literally in Claudine’s case) behind the scenes treating her child like shit. Max shook off Karen’s hand with a shrug of his shoulder.
7 CERYS
Cerys’s manicured nails were blood-red, and hard as flint. She stared sightlessly at them then her eyes slid to the blue line crossing the small indicator screen and her stomach heaved. After throwing up into the lavatory, she lowered the lid to sit on it. Christ, how would Paul react to this? She dug her knuckles into a knot in her belly and took a deep breath, raising her breasts like a ship's figurehead, then, with her chin raised, she rose and clip-clopped across the tiles.
At the table, Paul was tapping at his laptop. His dishevelled silver hair and oily nails contrasted with Cerys’s shining kitchen. She gestured at the computer, ‘You ought to keep that thing out of the workshop. It’s filthy.’ The criticism came out before she