

CHEAP WHITE MEAT

ALEX FLYNN

Published by Alex Flynn at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Alex Flynn

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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PART ONE

Chapter One

Nobody cares about me. Not one single person in the entire world. Not even me. And why should they? I'm fat for a start and I don't think I'm in any way attractive. I can't sing, I can't dance; I've got no personality and I go mute when a stranger is in the same building as me. And everyone is a stranger to me.

So everyone gives up.

I'm not worth the effort. A lost cause. My own worst enemy. When they've done the minimum their job specifies they sign me off and pass me on for the next one to "have a crack at me".

But they all leave me alone, sooner or later. Even though I don't get violent, I don't start screaming, I don't try to run away and I certainly don't try harming myself. They just put me to one side. Apparently, it's just a "phase" I'm going through.

No, a phase is something like only eating cucumber sandwiches because you don't want to get a muffin belly. Well, too late! A phase is counting to ten before walking down the stairs in the morning because it will mean that your best friend will sit next to you in school. But I'm not allowed to keep friends any more. And anyway, at the moment I've only got a grand total of four who I'm allowed to choose from: The Biter, The Self-Harmer, The Alcoholic and The Psychotic. All under 16 years-old. All under 24 hour supervision, or supposedly, for their own safety.

And I'm the problem child? The one they can't get through to.

But somebody got through to me. All the way through and right inside. But they didn't care about me, whoever it is I've turned into down the years. They only cared about my situation, and my vulnerability, but only so that they could exploit it. Well, that's what I've since been told. I don't know, it might be true, but I just want to forget about it and move on.

But no, I've got to talk.

Otherwise, _they_ say he'll get away with it. _They_ are the ones who are specially trained to deal with my situation, but they've never been in my situation. At first I didn't really think anything was wrong, well I've never had anything "normal" to compare it to, but sat here opposite him, and her, his new subordinate, I don't feel like the victim. I feel like I'm the guilty one. The ringleader who has masterminded the whole thing. After all, surely my silence is an admission of guilt.

Perhaps they'd prefer it if I were The Self-Harmer. I'm sure they've got enough experience to conjure up a tragic accident in which I could put myself at peace. But I don't care what happens to me, except that when they lock me up properly that they lose the key and don't call out a locksmith.

_He_ wants me to go back to the beginning. And he wants me to call him "Dan". If he was as good as he claimed on his C.V. then he'd know that I'd speak when I'm ready. But I'll never be ready for him. I've made my mind up and I'll never change it.

_She's_ talking about her younger sister. I don't know why; I don't know her sister and I've got nothing in common with her. And because of that one stupid comment of hers I'll hate her forever and won't do what she wants.

The one they want me to talk about wasn't exactly nice. He didn't make me feel special. I certainly didn't fancy him and I'll never know what love is. We didn't talk much. I don't anyway and English isn't his first language. But he certainly knew what he was doing and before I did it was too late.

Sometimes I don't think it's that big a deal. It wasn't like I was saving myself for anyone because no one would want me. They certainly wouldn't want the type of person they've let me become down the years. However, some serious allegations have been made. Allegations that are against the law and could land someone, or some people, in a lot of trouble.

For some reason people still talk to me as if I'm 8 years-old. Like they think that because it was the last time I was relatively normal it will take me back to a shiny happy place and make me open up. But I'm not 8. I'm 15. Or at least I should be. I don't quite know what I am any more. I didn't know I'd technically been raped until about three weeks after it first happened and that didn't stop me letting it happen again, repeatedly. And I didn't know I was an underage prostitute until this morning.

I'm not exactly slow, or I wouldn't have been if I'd have stayed "normal", but things like that don't register in my mind. Maybe I am still 8 years-old inside my head. I don't know, I can't really remember what it felt like to be 8, or maybe my mind won't let me remember.

They look like they are starting to lose patience. It's Gillian's turn to be my Key Worker and "look after me" today. Apparently, she's a fully qualified Occupational Therapist but I would hate to see someone try to do her job without the qualifications she's supposed to have. She's answered everything she can when they ask her some extremely probing questions, but she doesn't know enough.

For some reason they keep mentioning money. How much pocket money I get. Whether my family give me any money. What I spent that money on. If that's all they're bothered about they can have it. All £380 of it.

I wasn't planning to use it to run away with. I did have one thing that I wanted to do with it but I couldn't tell anyone because they'd talk me out of it. Tell me that I was too young and that the thing I wanted fixing was just the way "Mother Nature intended me to be." Well, Mother Nature must be a right bitch if she wanted to create a monster like me.

I did think for a while that having money would make me feel better.

But it didn't.

As soon as I remembered that I'm not really in charge of my life I may as well not had it at all. I may as well have done all that hard work for nothing. I used to lay it out on my bed, in serial number order, and try to work out what else I could buy with it. But there wasn't anything I wanted other than a tummy tuck and liposuction from my arse and thighs.

If I'd have spent the money on food I'd have ended up fatter. If I'd have spent it on clothes I couldn't have bought the nice ones because they wouldn't even cover my arse. There's nowhere I want to go. And certainly no one I want to go with.

Of course, there's the friend who I've still got inside my head from when I was 8. But he's nearly a man now. And he wouldn't remember me. The one who the other boys used to laugh at when I did a cartwheel and exposed my fat thighs to the world. Because I was "chubby" I don't think anyone could believe that I was neglected. Although I wasn't neglected, that's just what had to be claimed in court so that the prosecution could get their precious conviction to pacify the "great" British public.

When I was younger, I didn't fit into their little examples of how a neglected child looks or acts. So I had to change my ways so that people would actually believe that there was something wrong with me. But then maybe they should just throw away the textbooks and try to deal with me another way. A better way. A way that actually works.

I wonder how they'd deal with it if it happened to The Alcoholic. Now she can talk. Probably so much that they wouldn't believe her. But at the moment they don't believe me. All because I'm not talking. Now of course I could talk for a couple of minutes today and they'd leave me alone. Until tomorrow. But I don't want to be left alone until tomorrow. I want to be left alone forever.

It's happened. It hasn't killed me. But it hasn't made me stronger. I'll probably never get over it. Although I wasn't exactly functioning normally beforehand. However, I know that deep down today is just the start of an interrogation that could last for months.

Chapter Two

They've let me outside for five minutes. I think it's more because they wanted a break rather than for my own welfare. But I don't like being left outside alone. Exposed. With the C.C.T.V. waiting to watch me open the gate and make a run for it.

I used to go out. And it used to annoy The Psychotic one because they trusted me. But they don't anymore. Gillian says she still trusts me. But then Gillian's tried to say pretty much everything since she wanted a new challenge in life and decided to try to make mine better. Gillian says her "conversational style" is a strength of hers. It's not. But if she didn't talk so much then I might be able to remember more of what she says.

Today must be costing them a fortune because all The Others have been taken out for the day. On a Saturday. So all the ones who have had to come in and provide cover will get double time and a day in lieu, which I've worked out means a days holiday. Some of them will effectively earn £380 today. For one days inconvenience. It took me seven weeks to earn that. But they look sincere when they say they really do care about us. Although I'm always the last one they make eye contact with when they say it to us as a group.

The Biter needs to be told it almost hourly otherwise she'll bite them. And it hurts. Well, she's never bitten me but she knows how to punch as well. I think she was the first to notice the change in me. How I didn't flinch as much when someone invaded my personal space. So I started to over-compensate and started flinching when someone had no intention of coming near me. Gillian's already said twice today how she can notice the change in me now that she looks back at it. In retrospect she tries to say. She doesn't have a problem pronouncing her 'R's, but she talks that fast, and that often, that big words don't come out right.

Sitting out here alone, waiting to be called back inside, is boring. I mean, I'm normally on my own all day everyday anyway but now it's different. Now I know I'm going to be called back inside any second soon. Even though I don't have a watch, I know it's been well longer than five minutes.

If I were normal then I'd be messing around on my mobile. But I must be the only teenager who's never wanted a mobile. I was given one, so that I could "text" people instead of speaking, but I conveniently lost it. I didn't like it being next to me, like it was a way of people being able to check up on me any time of day or night.

Gillian pops her head out from the fire escape so I stand up. However, I sit back down and put my hood up when _they_ follow her outside. This must be their new tactic. The office setting didn't work so maybe the tranquil fresh air will sprinkle some magic.

Dan says something about how a cup of tea always helps to clear his head. When he says that I wish I were The Biter. I'd bite his stupid head off so that he couldn't come out with comments like that. I don't know why but every bloke they send through those gates is either camper than a row of pink tents in a field at a gay pride festival in Brighton or some Sergeant Major type who believes in "tough love". I don't like either type. So I don't talk to them. But it's all an act. They're not really like that. It's how they're told to behave. Not to show any weakness. Not to show any humanity more like.

I don't act this way on purpose. I just do it. Anyway, it's not an act. If it was then I would have got bored of it by now. After all, I need to sort myself out at some point before I turn 16 and get turfed out of here because they supposedly don't have the resources to be able to cope with adult nutcases. I've no idea where I'll be sent once I'm 16. No doubt I won't have any choice. As usual, I'll just be sent wherever they can "find a place for me".

The former residents here aren't exactly a long line of success stories. Their time in here doesn't exactly fill them with hope and expectation for the future. But then we are at the end of the line. Sort of an unofficial psychiatric ward kept around the back; hidden from sight from the day patients who still have a chance of turning their lives around.

I wouldn't have considered myself to be a psycho. But then it doesn't exactly happen overnight and I suppose that I'd be the last one to notice that my behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic if I thought that I was still relatively "normal". I used to think that a lot of the things that they said I had wrong with me; suspected ADHD, suspected Borderline Personality Disorder, suspected Body Dysmorphic Disorder and various kinds of weird behaviour, were just a by-product of being stuck in the care system. I used to kid myself that once my life went back to "normal" then I'd go back to normal, but then as I've said; no one cares about me so I've never had the chance to give "normal" a go.

It used to do my head in when they only said I had "suspected ADHD"; like they didn't want to commit fully to a diagnosis in case it didn't turn out to be the case and I'd sue them, meaning that their precious reputation would be ruined.

If Dan could read my thoughts then he'd be able to know what happened at the beginning. When I was first taken out of the mainstream and put into care. When everything was fine but some people thought that it was their duty to interfere in mine and Mum's lives. And ruin them both in the process as an added bonus.

I wouldn't say I was popular at school, but I wasn't exactly bullied. Well, I had to put up with the timid name-calling, which counts as bullying these days, but it didn't exactly bother me. I already knew I had fat thighs. I just didn't like everyone else knowing. It's easy when you're in a normal school to slide through unnoticed. It's when the class sizes get smaller, and you're put in with a bunch of nutters, where any defects show because there's someone with a clipboard writing down every miniscule detail about you.

And didn't the defects start to show! What kind of person is so shy that they can't speak? But what if it's not shyness after all. I don't mean, what if there was a medical condition to _suspect_ it as, which of course there is, but what if it's not me but them? After all, I don't speak to people I don't like. People who are fake. Won't be themselves. Try to cover up the defects. Pretend that they're happy when they're not. If they were truly happy then they wouldn't have to waste their time on the likes of me.

I'm sure in the good old days it would have been easier for them to deal with me. If some illness hadn't killed me then starvation would have done because I'd have had no one to feed me. Or they could have transported me across the seas to the colonies as an "indentured servant" where I would have been flogged to death toiling in some plantation, practically the property of some rich landowner. But aren't I virtually in the same situation now? After all, I'm virtually owned by the state and they get to deal with me how they feel fit.

I'm sorry, I've let my mind drift. I've totally lost track of whatever it is they're all saying about me. Gillian's noticed that I'm showing signs of distraction so she thinks I need the toilet. She thinks that I'm too shy to put my hand up to ask and will probably end up wetting my knickers.

Once again, I AM NOT EIGHT YEARS OLD.

However, the opportunity to get away from the Three Mongamigoes is one not to pass up.

Chapter Three

I feel like a gorilla in a zoo waiting for my keeper to open the cage and let me outside for some stimulation. Gillian pushes the door open when it beeps and I'm free to explore the recreation of my natural habitat.

But there's a stranger in my enclosure.

A random male. Maybe I'm not a gorilla after all but a panda. A giant panda, with giant thighs, which has to reproduce to help save her species.

It's okay though, I've been here before. I know exactly how to play this. They're all the same; like a bloke who knows he's going to be getting it at night so he's been excited all day he lets it all blurt out within the first 30 seconds and spoils everything.

I flash him a smile, to lure him into a false sense of security and wonder what all the fuss is about with me, but I don't think he was looking. He's wearing sunglasses so big and dark that I can't see his eyes through them. When I look at him all I see is me; so I look away.

And wait.

I'm waiting for him to speak. To reassure me that he's "on my side". Here for me. That he's not going to judge me.

But I'm still waiting.

There's something wrong. Things don't usually pan out like this. Normally I already hate whoever is trying to help me. But how can I hate this guy? He's not even given me any reason. Well, apart from those sunglasses.

But he'll speak soon.

He has to. How else is going to be able to give up on me if he doesn't even start? What's he going to write in his little report:

I was presented with Child X but because my big stupid sunglasses blocked out all the light I didn't know she was in front of me until she kicked me in the head. I didn't take up this job to be assaulted by ungrateful children so I'm resigning and going back to working in a call centre.

I'm not going to kick him in the head though. That's not what I do. But who is this guy? Is he a copper? A social worker? A psychiatrist? And why isn't he telling me?

And those sunglasses. They're freaking me out. It's the eyes that give people away. Show their true feelings. But if I can't see his eyes then how can I tell how this guy is feeling?

This is weird.

Proper weird.

Come on, it's time to speak. Time to give the game away. Come on, what are you waiting for? Me to speak?

Okay then.

Just wait a minute whilst I clear my throat.

Ha-ha, you're not going to get me that easily. Come on, just say your piece; show some sympathy and send in the next clown.

This is bad.

I don't know how to deal with this. I've heard of fighting fire with fire. But silence with silence? This is just stupid. How's he going to get anywhere? I hope they're not paying this guy; I've cost the country enough already. I don't know why though. I'm not worth it. And I certainly didn't ask for it. I'm the ultimate "Resource Consumer". I constantly cost the country money, but I never give anything back. Every day it takes four people directly, and countless others indirectly, to look after me. On the one hand, you could say that I do my bit to keep the dole queue down, but surely they could find something better to spend the money on.

I wonder if I could look after myself if I were let loose in the big wide world. When I'm allowed to be someone else I can speak, sort of. I don't try to be someone special. Just someone normal, or gullible, whatever your take is on it.

This guy really is getting to me. He's got my mind to drift and he's not even droning on about anything. I need him to take off those sunglasses. One: they look stupid. And Two: they're giving him the upper hand. Come on, just take them off, and leave me alone to get on with being a loner freak.

My cheeks look chubby in the reflection of the sunglasses. And my skin is so pale. I didn't realise I'd gone that pale. Well, my cheeks are still their normal colour, but the rest of me looks drained of emotion. I always thought that I could pass for normal if you just saw me without being briefed about what a messed up freak I am. I thought that was what made me so intriguing. That I look relatively normal on the outside but so complex on the inside.

And shouldn't Gillian be here? They've left me alone with a total stranger. I'm a vulnerable child. I could be sexually assaulted at any moment. For all I know he could be sexually assaulting me with his eyes behind those sunglasses.

Is it possible to look at a female's body without noticing her boobs? For a man I mean. I used to show cleavage, when it was a novelty. Now I sort of do my best to hide them. Since The Psychotic one moved in and developed a complex.

See, because I didn't exactly look like a child that's why I didn't consider myself to be one. Stupid really. Or is it? My body's definitely ready. My mind's probably ready. Or do they just want an excuse to get him, the guy who's apparently ruined my childhood and mentally scarred me for life. Are they after him because he was different? Different ways. Different beliefs. I didn't really agree with his ways, but we didn't really discuss them.

Anyway, back to the present. He's definitely looking at me. But I can't tell at which part. I need to take those sunglasses off him. I lean forward and feel like a toddler playing with an activity centre plaything. My hand doesn't seem to be able to grip properly. Am I so useless that I can't even rip a pair of sunglasses from some blokes head?

I'm touching the sunglasses but he still hasn't reacted. This guy is weird. Firstly, he's turned up here. You've got to be weird to want to do this job. Secondly, he's dressed far too well compared to the rest of his cronies. And finally, he can sit in total silence with a complete nutter for ages and not even blink an eyelid. Well, maybe he has been blinking but I've not been able to tell.

I can feel his breath on my hand. It's not hot and sweaty like it used to be when I felt some strange bloke's breath on me. Is he allowed to be this close to me? After all, I'm the child; he's the adult. No matter what I do, he's got to behave himself. Stay within the boundaries. Keep his composure. Well, his breathing pattern certainly suggests that he's keeping calm.

But how you gonna cope now Mr Strong Silent Type? Now that I have your sunglasses.

I fix the sunglasses so that they hang from my hoodie. Now if he is caught staring at my tits then he can claim that he was checking that I hadn't damaged his precious fashion accessory.

After the big build up, and the expectation, his eyes aren't all that special. I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but I was expecting a bit more life. He's only young as well. Not my age, but it was more like Big Brother was watching me; rather than dirty Uncle Steve who still tries it on with Mum.

I don't know if I have an Uncle Steve. I don't know what good it would do me anyway if I did. I've got too many problems now to be placed back with my family even if Mum does behave herself and gets let out as soon as she's eligible for parole. I know that is soon because it's supposed to be just after my 16th birthday, but I've forgotten the exact date and they don't mention Mum any more.

When they stop mentioning certain things it means that they think it's hindering my "recovery". It could mean one of two things: either; every time they tried to use the perfect "sweet 16 fairy-tale birthday" as some kind of incentive I've developed some other weird personality trait, or; Mum's not been behaving herself inside so they don't want to be the one who has to tell me.

Pretty crafty if it is the second one. Whilst they hate it when I don't answer their questions so that they've got nothing to write about in their little report; if there's something they don't want to mention to me they know that I won't ask them about it. So I have to sit and wonder. Sit and wonder if one day when I'm allowed out for some fresh air that "Mum" will be there to greet me.

But I know that won't happen. They don't introduce me to anyone who can actually make my life better.

I look at his eyes again.

He's not looking at me but just past me, like he knows I want to check him out but don't want to make it obvious. I'm checking to see that he doesn't resemble me. I know Mum didn't have any other children, but I'm not sure about whoever my "dad" might happen to be.

But he can't be my brother. They wouldn't just let him into my enclosure like this. There are rules and procedures that have to be followed. Even though I'm a "special case", they're not going make an exception for the likes of me.

So what now? I've got his sunglasses. If he wants them back he's got to ask for them. I don't really want them. And seeing his eyes hasn't really helped. He now looks more human but I need him to speak before I can judge him properly. And then dismiss him like all the rest.

I suppose I could just walk away, but this is my territory. And if I let him win today's battle then they'll only invite him back another day to torment me then. Just simply giving this guy the silent treatment isn't working. They'd have him sitting in on other sessions just watching, observing. I need to break him and I need to break him fast.

I wished I'd have paid attention now at what made people give up in the past. Some just didn't care so I didn't need to try with them. Some needed the money, and had to try to make this job work so they took a week or two, but they'd always run out of questions to ask in the end. I've had it all. Been spoken to in the first person. The third person. Past tense. Present tense. Like I wanted to speak but was unable. Like I used to be able to speak but recently forgotten how the English language works.

But never this.

Never just sitting here. Waiting.

Waiting for me to speak first. Some think they've tried that with me before but they don't know that they lost me when they said "hello" with their eyes when they first looked at me.

But this guy hasn't even done that. We've still not properly made eye contact.

I look up to the window by the fire escape. It's where Gillian normally sits when she wants to make it look like she's doing her job and keeping an eye on me. But I could sense she wasn't there. I don't know if Dan and his subordinate are still here. Many doors have to be beeped through before you get out into whatever counts as civilization these days so it's not always easy to keep track of who is coming and going.

So I'm left with silence. Is this how annoy it is when someone doesn't speak? I really am a bitch. If I'd have known I was so good at something I wouldn't put myself down so much all the time.

I stand up and put his sunglasses back on to cover his face. But he still doesn't flinch. He might have drawn the battle today, but I'll crack him tomorrow or whenever he tries next.

Chapter Four

I've retreated to my room so it doesn't surprise me when Gillian beeps herself into my room. Except, when I look up, I see that it's not Gillian. It's him again. Naked. There's a naked man inside my room. My room without any C.C.T.V. and only one escape route. And he's blocking it. Stood there with his naked eyes.

10 minutes he's given me. 10 minutes alone to compose myself and work out how I'm going to deal with him. Doesn't this guy understand the British way of slacking on the job?

I really don't know what to do now. They've never done this before. Let a total stranger into my room. I don't normally stop people just walking in when they please, staff I mean. The Others aren't allowed in here. As soon as they found the laptop and T.V. then they'd kick-off. But this guy must have about 5 degrees and the most enhanced CRB check in history because they've just let him loose with me.

Where did I go wrong with this guy? And why is he freaking me out. I've never been alone in a bedroom with a strange bloke this long without the smell of a condom making my stomach turn. If I came onto him would he stop me? Well, I know he doesn't fancy me, but would he risk a cheeky blowjob? I mean, who am I going to tell?

And why do I keep thinking about having sex with a complete stranger. That's definitely one of the symptoms of a borderline personality disorder, I looked it up online. So if I can recognise the symptoms myself then perhaps I can stop myself from doing something stupid.

After all, I don't fancy this guy. He's too skinny. If he wasn't wearing stupidly expensive designer clothes then he'd have nothing worth talking about regarding his appearance. Even his socks look expensive. And they're far too close to my face. So close in fact, I can see that he's got weird shaped feet.

What kind of bloke strolls into a 15 year-old freaks room, takes his trainers off, and sprawls out on the bed in the opposite direction to said 15 year-old freak?

And I still don't think he's acknowledged that I'm here. I did think he could be blind, or partially sighted, but he doesn't look it, if you know what I mean. You can tell when someone is blind because their eyes seem vacant. But his eyes are definitely occupied. Just like my personal space.

I wasn't exactly watching anything on T.V. but it would have been nice if he'd have asked me if he could change the channel. Even though my T.V. has been paid for at taxpayers' expense it doesn't give him the right to come in and watch it like it's his. It wouldn't be so bad but he's switched over to some radio station aimed at his age demographic.

This is even freakier than before.

Actually, is this not in fact normal? Okay, we're not speaking, but that's because we hardly know each other and are both shy.

Stop.

This isn't a date. This isn't normal. He's a copper or a social worker or psychiatrist. And he shouldn't be getting to me like this. I'm not having any impact on him. He's pretending that I'm not even here so I'm going to do the same.

Well, that didn't work.

He turns the T.V./radio up full blast when a new song comes on. The way I do when a song comes on that I like. I've never heard this song before and it's being sung so fast that I can't understand any of the words. I wonder if I tried to take the remote from him if he'd stop me. He didn't stop me taking off his sunglasses. And his expression didn't change when I put them back on him.

Another song comes on. He must not like this one as much because he's turned the volume back down to normal. This song is slower and I can pick up some of the words. Something about "if you tolerate this then your children will be next."

I wouldn't be that cruel to have any kids of my own. No one deserves to be hampered by 50% of my genes. Apparently, many of the illnesses I'm "suspected" of suffering from are hereditary. Perhaps they can perform a hysterectomy on me when they're giving me a tummy tuck. Making sure that my "idiot gene" died with me would certainly be in the interest of the human race.

'Who sings this?'

One of us has cracked. It must be me because I don't know the answer so he'd be wasting his breath. But he doesn't respond. Either he didn't hear me or my mind is playing tricks on me and I didn't say it after all. Phew! That was close. I thought I'd given in.

'Manic Street Preachers.'

Damn it.

He mutes the T.V. and says, 'They were big well before your time. And probably before mine to be honest.'

What now? Do I speak? Is it time for Plan B: only speak in closed statements.

'Oh.'

He turns the song back on but some advert about car insurance has replaced it. So he mutes the T.V. again. I do that. Apparently, you've to see, or hear, an advert seven times before it sticks in your head. I don't know why I know that and I hope I'm not talking out loud.

'Interesting fact.'

Fucking hell!

Not only do I sound like a right dork but I'm also having a conversation with some stranger. And why do I like this guy?

Do I?

I can't do. I don't like anyone. But what is he getting out of this? We're having a conversation about nothing. It's pointless. Leading nowhere. Come on Radio on the T.V. Man; say something to make me hate you.

Silence.

Golden silence. No judgement. No reassurance that none of this is my fault. No condescending lies about being here to do everything possible for my welfare. So why is he here? And why is he getting up to leave? I was almost ready to talk.

Chapter Five

How long was he in my room for? It must be late because The Others are back. I'm stood in Gillian's watch point, watching The Others. They're crowded around my friend. The one who understands me. He's talking to them but I think it's only to answer their questions.

Four pairs of eyes tell me I'm not wanted when I stand about five yards from them. But he doesn't turn around. Maybe I repulse him and if he looks at me then he'll throw-up. I feel like throwing up sometimes in the morning when the first thing I see is my muffin belly. I run my hand over my stomach, for some reason I think doing that makes me look slimmer, and stare at the back of his head. His hair's sticking up slightly at the crown. Actually, his whole haircut is a bit naff. A bit last decade.

He's single!

Or at least that's what he's told The Self-Harmer. But that's the safe option. It doesn't lead to any follow up questions. Or at least it shouldn't. Anyway, Gillian's back. She calls The Others inside and they must not have been fed today because they don't cause a fuss.

'Knock on my door later,' The Self-Harmer says. 'I'm in the penthouse suite.'

What she means is that she has they had to create a special padded cell – I mean room – for her so that she couldn't cause herself any harm.

Jack.

My new friend is called Jack. That's what The Biter's just called him. "See ya later Jack", she said, but I couldn't see his reaction.

Maybe he's not here to deal with me after all. And there's me letting myself think that I'm special. But he's not following them inside. That means that he's mine. All mine.

So we're all alone again. Just the two of us.

'They always like that?'

I was just about to answer him but he turned around and put me off. Now this is tricky. He's never spoke first before. My reaction now could undo all his good work.

Oh no, the sunglasses are back on. Come on Jack, they're not you.

'Cost a lot of money these did.'

Did I speak out loud again? Maybe I've spoken more over the past couple of years than I've thought. Or can he read my thoughts? Nah, he can't read my thoughts because if he could he'd be crossing his legs to stop me looking to see if I can see it. But then maybe he's not shy. Happy days!

'Money doesn't make you happy,' I say.

'Easy for you go say; you've never had any.'

That's what you think. I've got £380 tucked away in the bedroom you've just made yourself at home in. Or at least I think I do. They have a tendency to snoop around in our rooms and I haven't checked it for a day or two.

Wait a minute. Is he supposed to talk to me like that? I've just been merked by some guy who's at least 10 years older than me. I'd like to know which training manual encouraged him to try insulting his problem child.

But this is nice. Just the two of us. Out here in the sunshine. Still no need for the sunglasses though.

'Take them off.'

'Maybe later.'

'You mean for The Self-Harmer?'

He doesn't get the nickname. 'Georgina, the one who lives in the penthouse suite.'

'So what little nickname do you give yourself?'

'I don't need one, Jack.'

He smiles when I say his name and takes off those stupid sunglasses so that I can see his eyes light up.

'That your real name?'

'Even my mum calls me Jack.'

'How long have they given you? To get the answers they need from me.'

'Dunno.'

'Well they won't pay you sit in my room and listen to the radio forever.'

'They're not paying me now.'

Work experience.

He's on work experience. He's an unemployed graduate trying to gain some work experience. This can't be happening to me. I've broken the greatest minds the care system in England and Wales has to offer and the fucking work experience boy has got me pouring my heart out.

'How do you afford them clothes then?'

'I did have a job but I quit. Didn't like it.'

'And you wanted to come here?'

'I didn't even know this place existed until someone recommended it to me.'

'Don't tell me, you've been a success story everywhere else so they thought they'd see if it was beginners luck?'

Don't wink at me Jack. It looks wrong on the C.C.T.V. if I put a complaint in that you've over stepped the boundaries.

'So what you gonna tell 'em?'

'What do you want me to tell them? Rosie.'

'Don't call me that.'

'Why not?'

'It's not my name.'

'So why does it bother you?'

You know why it bothers me Jack. And you know what my name is. It's not Rosie. It's _not_ Rosie. It's never been Rosie. That wasn't me. That was someone else. Someone who doesn't exist any more. Someone who died when the shutters got pulled down and I had nowhere to go. Someone who doesn't want to be brought back to life.

This guy is going to get killed if he goes round talking to messed up kids like this.

'My name's not Rosie.'

I don't know if he heard me because I'm crying.

And I never cry. Not in front of anyone. What use is crying anyway? It only makes my eyes look all red and puffy as well as my cheeks.

Rosie Red Cheeks, that's me. Or at least who I used to be until I had to stop one day without notice and go back to sitting in my room, alone.

Never underestimate the value of a good first impression. This guy has made me cry but I'm still sat here. Outside, in the silence. Even though we've got a full house inside it's suspiciously quiet. The Others know something went on. Something serious. But they're not sure what. Of course they've all made comments about what they think has happened, but none of them have been 100% right.

The Alcoholic got dangerously close one time, but she stopped when she started to sound like she might have been a victim too. The Others don't have the same resolve as me to put up with the interrogations that they put you through when they want you to speak. If The Alcoholic had to go through what I've been through the past couple of days then she'd be spending the next few weeks on remand, waiting trial, because she has a habit of telling people what they want to hear, trying to make people happy.

Maybe I was the ringleader after all. Maybe that's why I don't feel like a victim. Maybe they think I was setting traps to lure The Others into. Perhaps one of The Others is the one who first went to the police. But if that was the case then they wouldn't leave me here with her. If the same thing had have happened to one of The Others then they'd certainly have mentioned it.

But I've got Jack to deal with first. Quiet Jack. Quiet unassuming Jack. With nothing to lose and everything to gain.

'Can I keep these?'

'Why?' he asks, when I twirl his sunglasses in my hand. 'I thought you didn't like them.'

'I don't. So?'

He just shrugs his shoulders. Either he doesn't care or he knows I want to keep them because they're the reason he broke me. Well, that and his ability to not give in. I don't know how he sees in these though. Everything's gone dark.

'Your eyes have to acclimatise to the change in light. I thought you'd know that if you knew that you've got to hear an advert seven times before it sticks in your head.' That's two merks I owe you now Jack. And I will get you back.

I've never been a fan of sunglasses. As a fashion accessory. I've always thought that they were worn by people with something to hide. People like Jack. He had to hide the fact that he was just the work experience kid. Otherwise I'd have walked away in seconds. I actually thought he was some guy who had a masters in child psychology and was trying to guess what every little movement I made represented. I thought he was a challenge. Someone who was going to try every trick he knew in order to get me to speak. But he was just winging it.

He got lucky though. So damn lucky.

But maybe I needed to speak to someone. I need some kind of an outlet. I don't exactly like being like this. It's just how I've learnt to survive. I started to change when me and Mum got moved away for our "safety". Questions started to be asked. Questions I didn't like; so I didn't answer them.

It's easy to feel like nobody cares about you when you're being introduced to a new set of strangers each month. A new set of rules to follow. A new school uniform to get used to wearing. I think that's why they still talk to me like I'm 8 years-old. Every time I started at a new school they'd do reading and writing tests and I would show up as being at the same level as a child in year 3. And that's pretty damn embarrassing when you're 13 and got bigger boobs than the woman doing the testing.

I can read properly now though. Only because I sort of taught myself. I could read to an extent anyway but any word I didn't know I'd look up how to pronounce it. I had to do something whilst I was sat around slowly going nuts.

My eyes are getting more used to the light and I can tell that The Psychotic is looking at us from the landing. Sargent Do-As-I-Say is trying to get her to move on. It's actually got "Female" written down under gender on Sargent Do-As-I-Say's passport but she's got more facial hair than Jack. Or maybe Jack's shaved today to create a good impression and it's not all showing through yet.

'Do they feed you here in lieu of wages?'

'What you gonna cook for me?'

No one's ever asked for me to cook for them. I don't know why. Maybe they don't trust me. But in a place like this where would I hide the poison?

'Pasta?'

Safe option. Go to option. Was the only thing I'd eat for a while but it did more harm than good. It was the start of only eating one type of food. I'm getting hungry anyway. It's been a long day. A strange day too. Started off all too normal, but I definitely didn't see this afternoon coming.

Chapter Six

I feel sorry for Jack having to eat some lukewarm pasta from a paper bowl with a plastic spoon. But, because we apparently can't be trusted, this is how we have to live our lives. I told Jack that he could have some decent food, with proper plates and cutlery, and get to know some of the staff better, but he said that if he wanted to listen to a middle-aged woman talk bullshit then he'd phone his mum up.

Jack then makes a very valid point about the washing up. No one ever has to do it. It might not seem significant but it is sort of one of the skills we'd need to know when we finally leave this place and go and live in the big wild world. After all, we're here to get better and become functioning human beings again.

Aren't we?

Well, that's what I used to think. But I now think that they don't want us to get better. There are too many people's mortgage re-payments and holidays abroad depending on having some nutcases' lives to make hell. I'll eventually have to leave here, sometime shortly after I've turned 16, but the way I'm going they'll probably have me sectioned and incarcerated in some high security hospital so that they can justify paying hundreds of people to count plastic spoons.

Even though Jack claims that he's okay, I can tell that he feels uncomfortable, like someone stuck at a party that's never got going and is looking for an excuse to backdoor it. Not that I've ever been to a party, but I've got a television and vivid imagination so I know what I'm talking about than most people. Wanting to offer Jack an escape route, I ask him:

'Can we go to the park?'

'Is there one round here?'

'Not really, but there's some fields we could walk through. Are you allowed to take me outside?'

'Dunno. You'll have to ask Gillian.'

I give him a look. A look that says I'm not that stupid. If that's meant to be his version of a joke then I'm not going to be laughing anytime soon. I've never been comfortable at laughing at myself.

'It's getting late though.'

'So? I'm sure you don't go to bed at 10 o'clock.'

Ten minutes later and the conversation isn't exactly flowing so I give in and ask him:

'Why me?'

'What do you mean?'

'Why me, and not one of The Others?'

'I didn't really have much choice. They had a right crisis on this morning trying to get enough staff together to get The Others out for the day. I had to stay because my CRB checks not come through yet so they wouldn't be insured, or something, if I caused an accident.'

I stop.

I'm in the middle of the woods with a complete stranger. He could be anyone. What kind of a name is "Jack" anyway?

'What's up?'

'I shouldn't be alone with you.'

'Why not? You're not under house arrest.'

'I feel like it. What does it say in my file about me?'

'Which bit?'

'The "crisis" causing bit.'

He pauses. That's bad. When someone pauses it means that they're thinking carefully about what they're going to say because they don't want to hurt you. But I've already been hurt. I've not been protected when I should have been. But maybe I should have looked after myself more. After all, I thought it was my choice. My choice to go out. My choice to keep going out. My choice to say "Yes". And my choice to keep on saying "Yes".

'I consented.'

'Doesn't matter. You're underage.'

'Loads of people my age have sex. If you've come to our place to fuck a virgin then you're too late.'

He shakes his head at me. I don't know what he means by that. But why is he here? Why me? There must be something more to it. I don't think it's me; the person. I think it's more my situation. And he knows more than he's letting on. Choosing his words carefully. I didn't even know they knew about "Rosie". None of _them_ has ever said that name to me before.

'I don't want to go to court. I don't like the way they make you feel guilty.'

'But then they'll get away with it.'

'Why does that bother you?'

'You know.'

Do I? Am I really that clever that I can work out how this guy is feeling only hours after first meeting him? I mean I could make a snap judgement about him but the chances are that I'd get it wrong. One of the things I have learnt in care is that it takes a while sometimes for people to reveal their true self.

I notice a group of lads my age walking towards us. Normally I'd turn back around, or at least take a diversion to avoid them, but tonight I've got Jack. On my arm.

'What? Do you not want to be seen with a fat bird?'

'You're not fat.'

Why do I believe him? This guy could tell me anything and I'd believe him. But I won't be allowed to keep him. He's not got the right piece of paper that states he's qualified to deal with my situation.

'Let me link my arm in yours if you're not embarrassed.'

He relents. His arm is surprisingly muscular for a skinny bloke. He must work out. I used to do that. I thought that if I did sit-ups it would make my belly disappear. But it didn't work. Everything stayed massive; just that bit firmer.

'Do you know where we're going?' Jack asks, when we've passed the group of lads.

'Yeah. But we won't be back until after dark so you'll get shouted at by Gillian.'

'She won't shout at me.'

'What do you think of her?'

'She's not my type.'

'Racist.'

'How is that "racist"?'

'She's a quadroon.'

'What's that mean?'

'That one of her grandparents is black.'

'But why does that make me racist?'

'Because.'

I don't know really myself. I'm just trying to get a reaction out of him. Normally if anyone is accused of being even a tiny bit prejudiced then they get into a big flap about it. But he's just looked at me as if to say "prove it". Maybe I will. Maybe I'll ruin his "career" in the process. As long as I keep pushing everyone away I won't have to confess. Like I've said, it's happened. Why should have to keep on being reminded about it?

'Do you ever use the "P" word?' I ask.

'Pack it in.'

He almost had me for a second then because he said it dead fast. So fast that there wasn't a gap between "pack" and "it" so it sounded like you know what. He must have heard someone say that before because his answer was far too quick.

If he knows about "Rosie" then he'll know about why I've just asked him if he uses the "P" word. I used to wonder why it was offensive, but it's not the word itself, more the context. It means backward, smelly, and ignorant. Plus a load of other things. But it's just a word. It's only offensive if you let yourself get offended by it.

I really should be heading off back. I'd say "back home" but it'll never feel like that. If I keep on going the way I am then I'll probably never know what it feels like to have a proper home again. And I do worry about the future. Because I've got absolutely no idea what I'm going to do when I'm older. So I need some help. More help than its fair for one single person to be burdened with. But Jack will do for a start.

Chapter Seven

I wish Gillian would stop wittering on. She's not stopped since she turned up for her shift today. Okay, I'm wearing make-up. It's not the first time. It's just been a while and I fancied a change. There's no reasoning behind it. Well, not much. And the cleavage? Well, I thought it was time I got a bit of colour back in my skin.

I've never seen Gillian look so relaxed. That's why she can't shut up. It's all Jack's fault. Him and his damn breakthrough. And where he is? What else has he got to do with his Sunday afternoon other than spend time with me? That's the problem with people who deal with the likes of me. Too much paperwork. Everything significant thing has to be noted down. Changes in behaviour. Details of conversations. Next steps to be taken. In my opinion it's the paperwork that makes people quit this job rather than the shit they get from the kids. But what do I know?

I want to know when Jack's going to get here. But if you don't ask; you don't get. Gillian knows I want to know this but she's being a bitch. She's talked about everything but Jack. According to her, it's been nice that I've done some cooking. Spent most of the day out of my room. Even gone out into the big wide world. But no mention of Jack.

Tactics.

One step at a time she's thinking. Well, if yesterday was a step forward then I'm more than ready to go two steps back. I'm sure it wouldn't take much for me to get Gillian to move on to another care home. I'm pretty sure she's not the one who makes the final choice anyway. Every now and again I get presented before a group of middle-aged idiots. I think they're the ones who make the choices about my welfare. And I know for a fact that they won't like Jack. Jack who almost made me think that he said the "P" word last night. Although I'm sure there are a lot of people who'd be using the "P" word if they found out what I'd been getting up to.

Even though my bedroom door is closed, I can hear the various doors on the corridor being beeped in and out of. This happens 24/7 anyway but it's happening a lot today. Especially for a Sunday.

So did yesterday actually happen or have I finally reached the last stage of madness? Jack was definitely here though because The Others spoke to him. There's no way I spent hours talking to myself and went for a walk with an imaginary person. He must be real because he's made Gillian happy. There's no way she'd be happy if I'd started talking to myself, no matter if that would be an improvement on the mutism.

Gillian's mobile beeps. Normally she gives you a running commentary on every little thought that's going on inside her head. Instead, she just walks out of my room without speaking. Rude. I might be ignorant and not speak but at least I give a verbal nod when I'm about to walk out of a room.

I look like a slapper.

This make-up isn't me. And I don't want to be a slapper. But then I don't really know what I want in life. Well, anything but this would be nice.

Every time the door in the corridor beeps I let myself think that my bedroom door's going to beep next. But it doesn't. Oh, this is torture. I've found a use for a mobile now. I could text Jack. Then he could text me back when he's coming round to see me.

"We'll see." That's what he said last night. It wasn't a "no" but then the choice isn't his. Maybe I shouldn't have put the make-up on. If they see me making an effort then they might start to think that Jack is leading me astray. But I'm already practically ferial so what difference would it make?

But then he could already be here. It's Sunday. I'm not down for any "sessions" today. He can't justify "just popping in to see me", that's Gillian's job. Actually, me not seeing him so far is a good thing. We don't want it to look like we're having too much of a good time. We've got to take things slowly, let them develop naturally. I can't suddenly go from not speaking to anyone for ages to being practically "normal" overnight.

But I'll never be normal.

Well, not without Jack's help. Jack, with the silly sunglasses and the expensive socks. I need to take him shopping. Give him a make-under. He's trying too hard.

A bit like me today.

Blusher on or off?

But I want him to notice the change in me. I want him to feel like he's doing well. This time yesterday I'd never met Jack. This time next week I could be out of here. Well, probably not. I know I won't be leaving here for a long time. Not without talking. So I'll talk through Jack. He can be my interpreter. But he doesn't look like the sort of person who's confident about speaking in big crowds. A bit like me. Maybe that's why we get along. We're soul mates.

Okay, I know we're not but a girl can dream.

Where is he though? He'll have to get me a mobile; how else am I going to be able to ask for him. I can't ever talk to Gillian. Purely on principle. I made my mind up months ago that I didn't like her. She thinks that she's making progress, but all she does is attempt to interpret my body language and guess what I want.

But Jack can get me to talk. Jack can get me to hold his hand. Jack can get me to kiss him.

I wish.

I don't really fancy him but there's something about him. Something I like. Something I want to experience more. But it has to be just the two of us. As soon as a fake walks into the room then I'll shut up. Maybe I'll need to be quiet now, my bedroom door's just beeped.

Chapter Eight

Why isn't he speaking? We're friends now. He can just jump in and ask me whatever he wants. I even smiled at him but he didn't respond. Oh wait, I did that yesterday. He might think that it's part of my act and that he's got to win my trust again.

It's okay. I trust you Jack.

'What's with the make-up?'

Well, I definitely didn't need the blusher; my cheeks have now got enough natural colour in them.

'Do you not like it?'

'It's your body.'

But you're the one who has to look at me Jack. I want you to like what you see.

'Do you want to listen to your radio?'

'It's up to you. I'm not going to force anything on you.'

You can force whatever you want on me big boy. Damn, I need to stop thinking about sex. I don't think I've ever been horny before. Well, not like this. In the past I just wanted anyone. It didn't really matter who, I just wanted to experience it. Feel wanted. See if I could get someone to want me. Someone to want me more than once.

It was the fact that they were a stranger that turned me on. But this is different. This almost feels like it could happen. No one can see into my room. Of course one of the staff could walk in at any point, but that's what makes it exciting!

Can Jack tell I'm thinking about him like that? He looks different today. More serious. Oh great, here it comes. He's going to let me down gently. Don't do it gently Jack. Just do it fast and hard. Over in the blink of an eye. It's okay, it was nice to meet you. I'll always remember you as the first adult I ever trusted. Liked. Would have liked to have known even better. And not even like that. Just as friends.

I know you don't fancy me Jack. I don't blame you. Believe me, I'm trying today and I'm still nothing to look at. I could have done more in the boobs section, but it's hard to find clothes that push the good things up and hide the horrible parts. But what if he's into that? Some men are.

Disgusting.

Probably the most degraded I ever felt; having some bloke jiggle my belly up and down for ten minutes before getting me to "smother" him with it. "Fat" should become a word that people are ashamed to say out loud. The harm it's caused me is probably just as bad as being called the "P" word or the "N" word.

He's not shaved today so he looks a bit older. A bit cuter. Even more out of my league. Why couldn't I have met him on the outside? We'd have been good together. I wonder how he really feels about me. He's wearing jeans today so it looks like he's got a semi when he sits down. I wonder how long I can stare at it before he'll tell me to tell me to stop. But I don't want to put him off. Freak him out and make him never come back to see me again.

So what have you got to tell me Jack? Don't just sit there, mute. That's what I do.

'I've been given some questions to ask you.'

'Don't tell me. If I answer them then they'll give you a job here?'

'I want you to do it for yourself, not me.'

'I'm not worth it. How many questions, anyway?'

'Five. To start with.'

'What if I don't?'

'Then you'll have to go back to the way things were.'

And what do you know about "the way things were" Jack? What would you know about feeling so worthless. So useless. So horrible and disgusting that you actually looked up online for ways to commit suicide.

But my internet access is monitored. So they put me under 24 hour surveillance. And then they found out the reason why I wanted to end it all. Or I think they have. It would be interesting to know how much they know. So what's question one?

Jack looks proper nervous. Like he doesn't want to know the answers. Come on Jack, man up; you'd never make it as a copper. But then it's not Jack's fault. He's not been trained to deal with this situation.

'Where did you meet him?'

'He was the delivery driver for this takeaway on the road into town.'

'Which one?'

'The one it probably says on file.'

'Megabites?'

I nod. I don't want to say the name. It isn't fair that I've got to go all the way back to the beginning. It's over with. Why am I the one who is being punished? I can't be in that much danger otherwise they'd have moved me on again. I don't have the same accent as Jack, or anyone else around here. Don't want it either. It's naff.

'Did he tell you his name?'

'Adam.'

Jack doesn't believe me. It doesn't fit into the stereotype that he's already got fixed inside his head. And I'd hate to know what he thinks about me now. He's probably looking at me and wondering how many potions of chicken nuggets I had down at the takeaway to get the size I am now.

'It's quite a trek to Megabites from here, and there are other takeaways on the way, why that one?'

Don't make me say it Jack. Please. Don't make me say "Twenty chicken nuggets for two pounds." I know I'm disgusting. I don't need reminding.

Chapter Nine

I shouldn't have answered Jack's questions. Now they're all in the office talking about me. What happened to me or at least the start of it.

But it's not Jack's fault. He's on my side. The only one who is. He won't make me look bad. Although there isn't really any way he could make what I've just told him sound positive.

I hope he's got a good memory as well. He wasn't making any notes so he'll only be able to tell them what he remembers. But then he could have been secretly recording our conversation. He could have been recording all of our conversations, even the silence from yesterday. But he wouldn't do that. Not my Jack. Still, it's something worth bearing in mind. I could always strip search him next time he comes into my room.

Because there will be a next time. I told him something today. But it's not enough. I told him something that could probably convict one man. What about the other eight?

That makes me feel like a slag.

The next man I sleep with will be the 10th. And I'm not even sixteen. Or had any proper satisfaction from it.

I'm not a total idiot. Honestly. They only called me "Chicken Nugget" because that's what I ate all the time. My replacement for pasta. And I was so proud when I finished the first box all by myself. There wasn't anything else behind being called "Chicken Nugget", or at least I thought there wasn't until Jack's face changed. He thinks it means something else.

Cheap White Meat.

But then I was cheap. £20 a go. Well, that's how much I got. I never asked Adam if he took a fee for his trouble.

Adam. The one who used me, apparently. Well, Jack thinks he did. And I can't upset Jack. I've started this now. I've got to finish it.

Jack might think that he didn't show any anger when I explained to him what happened to me, but I noticed the subtle change in him. His normally eyes dart around the room but they stayed fixed on me. It didn't scare me. I've grown to like his eyes. They're a sort of bluey/grey. But that's not important. What is important is what happened to me. How to prove it and how to stop it happening again to some other vulnerable child.

I think that might be why they want me to talk about it. Even though I don't care that it happened to me, there might be other girls who are in the same position who feel like they've got no one to turn to. They might not have a Jack. A person they can trust. A person who will make everything okay again and give them a purpose in life.

But I don't know when I'll see him again. For how long they'll keep asking him questions. And what they'll want him to ask me next. But can Jack handle it all? He's not been paid for the last two days and he might have somewhere else to go during the week. I hope not. I need him here with me.

Although, how do I ask for him? I still can't talk to Gillian. And if she insists on being in the room then I won't be able to talk to Jack. I don't want her to know what happened to me. I don't want her to judge me. Although it's her fault.

She was my Key Worker when it happened and it only took place when it was her shift. I'd already started going out when she first came to work here but she didn't give me a curfew. The Others had them. Maybe she thought that if she gave me some trust and respect then she'd be helping me.

Well, she was wrong.

What kind of person doesn't do anything when a teenager with known mental health problems starts staying out until midnight and gets dropped off all the time by the same "taxi"?

Jack tried to pull me when I told him that Adam drove a taxi, but I told him he had two jobs. Jack could understand that. I also told him he doesn't have a driving licence though and Jack said, "That goes without saying."

He's definitely racist.

But is he any worse than Gillian? Gillian who let a vulnerable child who was in her care fall into the hands of a sexual predator. What was she doing whilst I was out for hours on end? The Others all have their own Key Workers, or Occupational Therapists, whatever it is they prefer to put on their C.V.'s, on site, 24 hours a day. There are also nurses, psychiatrists and various teacher type people who visit almost daily. And a staff room that gets a lot of use. So she can't exactly claim that she was needed elsewhere. If something serious happens they have other staff on call that can get here, within minutes sometimes.

Maybe that's why Gillian wasn't keen on telling them, the police, too much. She didn't prompt me. She didn't even try to get me to acknowledge any of their questions. She just sat there whilst Dan tried the impossible and attempted to get me to talk. Maybe she knows that if my situation is looked into in too much detail that they'll find out that she was being neglectful.

Even though I was fifteen, I clearly wasn't able to look after myself. To make my own decisions. I'm still not. Look at the way I've clung on to Jack. He's probably not even that great. Just in the right place at the right time. Wearing the right pair of sunglasses.

Jack. The one person who can sort this whole mess out.

Jack. The one person who can provide enough evidence to get Gillian the sack. I might not like her but I don't want her to be sacked. They'd only send in the complete opposite. Someone else who made my life a complete misery. Someone who'd watch my every move and remind me what a dirty little scrubber I am. I've already got one of those waiting to come back on shift later this week to watch me abuse myself again.

But then does Gillian deserve to keep her job? Job. That's probably all this is to her. Her shift pattern is three days on and three days off. That's because it's supposed to be so intensive. I bet was she gutted that Adam disappeared when Megabites closed without any notice; I've had no reason to go out since.

She used to revel in telling me how she let her hair down when her three days off fell over the weekend. Well, I hope this has been the weekend from hell for her; because that's all my life is going to be for the foreseeable future. Especially when I've got to tell anybody who thinks they need to know what happened.

But what about my privacy? From what Jack said it seems like I wasn't Adam's only "victim". Or maybe Adam isn't the main one in all this. I was just his way into the party. Maybe he was having a feast with some of his friends and they all had to bring some "Cheap White Meat"; so Adam brought his "Chicken Nugget".

I need to go outside because being cooped up in here is doing my head in. But if I go outside then I'll have questions to answer. I could take Jack but I've got a feeling that he won't be around for much longer. Gillian looked really pleased when he got me to start talking. I'll turn that smile upside down when I tell Jack it's all her fault. That she's let me down. I've changed my mind actually. She's the one where the blame lies and who should be brought to account.

Chapter Ten

Jack's not let me go out into the big wide world. Instead, he's let me out into my enclosure. I'm saying its Jack's choice but I know deep down that he's not in charge. The Others aren't happy about it but they only wanted to be outside because I did. Jack's also got some kind of recording devise so we've got to go back to the beginning. I've got a feeling this is going to become a pattern because it's what happened with Mum. Saying it once was never enough. I had to go over it repeatedly, in case I'd forgotten anything. More like in case I was lying through my back teeth and I'd slip up, by making some subtle change to my story. But I never made one tiny change, I knew it verbatim. I still do. I even almost believe it myself now.

Jack pauses the recording when I start blaming Gillian.

'Why have you done that?'

'Gillian's on your side, you know?'

So? She let me down. I bet she couldn't believe her luck when she found out she'd be "supporting" me. All she's had to do for the last few months is talk at me whenever I happened to be "home" and that's counted as her "doing her job". And Gillian talks without thinking. No wonder she hasn't quit like the rest. Easy money.

But then maybe I took advantage of that. I could tell deep down that Gillian just wanted the easy life, so I let her have it. So where's the harm? We both got what we wanted. But this isn't about someone slacking on any old job. This is about that person slacking on a job that led to someone becoming a victim of child prostitution.

Jack thinks that I was targeted because I live in care. However, I never told Adam I lived in care, but I never told I didn't. He knew I didn't go to school because I was getting the dinnertime special and would stay in Megabites for hours sometimes. Just watching. The world go by. People coming and going. Trying to see if I could learn a new language. I could pick up on certain words but I was never quite certain what they meant.

I suppose I was waiting for someone to reach out to me. And that someone who got there first was Adam. One of the people coming and going. He saw me walking home one night and beeped his horn at me, but I just ignored him and carried on. A couple of nights later the same thing happened. I didn't really think anything of it. After all, he was the delivery driver for Megabites and I was walking down the main road, so he had a reason for being there.

Anyway, he offered me a lift. As he wasn't a complete stranger I thought it'd be okay. And it was. The first time at least. He didn't do anything. Just asked me where I was going so I gave him some vague directions. That was all we said to each other.

So it became a regular thing. I'd even end up waiting for him so I could get a lift home. I'd never ask him but he'd just open his passenger door and in I'd get. Because he knew where to take me we didn't have to speak at all some nights.

The first time that Gillian saw him drop me off she thought it was suspicious. I suppose Adam could tell then I didn't live in "normal" circumstances, but he never mentioned it and I liked that. He was the first person who didn't change the way he behaved towards me when he realised that there wasn't something quite right about me. On the other hand, maybe that was when he realised my full potential.

When Gillian had seen him drop me off a couple of times she became used to it and even reasoned that it was safer that I used the same taxi, someone who I could trust.

And I did trust Adam. It was nice knowing that there was someone looking out for me. All sorts of down and out Resource Consumers used to drag their knuckles into Megabites to spend their benefits in there, but if they gave me any hassle then the staff would look after their "Chicken Nugget".

Adam never called me that but he added the "red cheeks" to "Rosie". I don't know if Adam was his real name. It might have been the name on his passport, but he'd always say "Best to have more than one name, in case question asked."

I suppose I have a tendency to cling to people once I feel like I can trust them. I'm not from round here so I don't know the area and I certainly don't have any friends to go places with. So when Adam asked me if I wanted to go for a drive one night, before dropping me off home, it was literally the best offer I'd ever had. It was already dark so it wasn't like there was much to see, but I didn't mind.

Adam pulled over into a lay-by near some woods. I knew then something was going to happen, but, again, I didn't mind. When he kissed me I didn't try to stop him. When he put his hand on my breast I unzipped my trackie top for him. When he unzipped his pants he didn't have to say anything or pull me closer towards him. I just got on with it. I suppose you could say I was a natural at the job.

Jack looks mad.

Mad that I could have been so stupid. Naïve. But maybe it's just me, the way I am. If I was in the same position with Jack then I'd do the same thing. But he wouldn't want me. Adam's almost old enough to be my granddad. He has to take what he can get. But Jack looks like he can get whichever girl he wants.

I want to stop. I've said enough for tonight. But Jack wants more. He needs more. He needs to hear about the rest. The other eight. They weren't all as old as Adam, but I don't think any of them were born in England. Coincidence? Probably. Significant? Definitely; if you're Jack.

He's starting to scare me a bit actually. He's definitely here for a reason. He's not doing his "good Samaritan" act to help society. He's here to make sure that a certain group of people are removed from the streets.

So whose side am I on?

After all, I think I'm technically the victim. The victim of twenty-three accounts of statutory rape. Four with Adam, which I was never paid for, and nineteen at £20 a time with some of his specially selected "friends".

However, proving it was them will be the hard part. The part I'm not looking forward to. But then maybe I was under investigation from the police. Although I don't know what evidence they'd be able to gather. I think they all used the main entrance to Megabites and then when upstairs the back way. It's the way I went. There was a load of flats upstairs above it, with a separate entrance to the flats from the street. But Adam used to say that someone as special as me deserved to use the "special" entrance.

I don't know if there were other girls involved. I certainly never saw any and I only ever went into one of the flats. It didn't really look like anyone lived there. For example, there was no T.V. in the bedroom, or much furniture other than a bed, and the bathroom just had the basic essentials. I never really felt the need to go and explore and see what was behind the other doors.

I certainly wouldn't have said it was a brothel but then I've never seen what one looks like. However, as I've said before then maybe I was the one that Adam brought to the party.

I wonder if they were happy when they found me waiting for them when they entered the room. The fat blob. That's why I didn't understand the thing about "child prostitution" at first. I don't look like a child. To me that would be the whole point; the fantasy, or reality, element. In my opinion I've got the body of a 25 year-old Scummy Mummy who's had three kids. Who'd want to pay for that? Well, quite a few people. According to the internet, I'm what is known as a "fetish". Freakish more like.

Chapter Eleven

It's been a long weekend. For both Jack and me. And he still doesn't want it to be over. It's like he knows that he might not get another chance after today to get me to "confess". But is this a confession? _Confessions of a Paki Shagger_. That's a horrible thing to say, but I've no doubt it's what some people will call me.

Me. The "victim". The second time I've been a "victim". But will they keep my identity a secret this time so that the public can't stick their nose in ruin my life again?

I'm probably going to have to move on again sooner or later. Without Jack. Without anyone. If this does go to court, and it's anything like the last trial I had to put up with, I'll be sixteen by then. Technically, I'd be free to fend for myself. But I know they wouldn't let me. I'd be sectioned straight away. There's other weird stuff I get up to as well which I do when other people are around so there's no way I'd be set loose on the world.

I wonder if I'll ever be truly free. If someone like Jack can take such an interest in me then maybe I'm not the loser I've let myself think I am. But I know deep down Jack doesn't like me for who I am. It's what's happened to me that has brought him here.

To be honest, I don't know if that bothers me, but just for once I'd like to meet someone who understands me and cares about me. But how would I ever be able to tell anyone about what has happened in my life? I wonder if Jack's got anyone more my age he could recommend to me.

I wonder what Jack's friends are like. There's definitely something about him. And he seems worried about his CRB check, especially as the police will be listening to our conversations that he's recorded. But maybe my situation needs someone like Jack. Someone who's determined that justice is done rather than political correctness is followed.

At the moment though my head is a bit of a mess. And I'm thinking about this too subjectively. Too wrapped up on how this will affect me. What hardship I'm going to be put through and when the next stage is going to start.

I've pretty much told Jack everything I know. Unless he wants me to go into minute detail of what happened in the bedroom department then there's not really much more that I can say. But I know he doesn't like me like that. And he certainly doesn't like hearing about what I've been getting up to. Although, just for once it'd be nice if he put his arm around my shoulder, kissed the top of my head and told me that he was going to make everything okay for me. I've never been told that by a virtual stranger I've actually liked before. And that's not me wallowing in self-pity again; that's how sad my life has been.

I'm feeling so fragile right now it's unreal. I'm also feeling like the cheapest cut of Cheap White Meat available on the market. Jack asked me what Adam used to win my trust and all I could say was "Chicken nuggets."

No booze. No fags. No drugs. No presents. No cheesy chat-up lines. Just chicken nuggets and red salt. Maybe some free fries as well, if there were some leftover going spare.

Am I that much of a fat whore?

All that was needed to take advantage of me was some little bites of gristly chicken. Of course, I got paid by Adam's "friends" but that was different. To be honest, I wasn't expecting it when the first one gave me his twenty quid for me time. And because I have a problem speaking I couldn't really ask him what it was for.

Jack had to look away when I told him that I'd have done it all for free. That I was happy to have the thrill of a stranger touching me. But he doesn't understand that I'm not worth anything. I'd never had anyone take an interest in me like that before. No one.

Whenever I walked past someone in the street who was cute, and I'd look back round to see if they were checking me out, no one ever looked back. They probably thought that the front was bad enough so they weren't going to be repulsed by the arse.

Jack tells me again that I'm not fat. I still believe him but it doesn't really make any difference. He might not think it but he's definitely in the minority. Although since I cut out the chicken nuggets I have lost a bit of weight. And I haven't eaten at all today.

'Can we get a takeaway?' I ask Jack.

'Where though? I don't eat halal.'

'What's halal?'

Jack looks at me like I'm stupid. But Jack, if you read my file properly then you'd find out that I haven't been to school properly for seven years.

'It's meat which has been prepared a special way.'

'So?'

'You wouldn't understand.'

'Would Adam eat halal?'

Jack nods. But what difference does it make? Meat is meat. Sometimes I wish that Jack could just be himself with me. There's so much that he looks like he's dying to tell me but has to hold back. I don't know what he's scared of. I'm not about to go blabbing. And not because I don't speak but because I'm on his side. I don't want to upset him.

Okay, he doesn't eat halal. If it's that special then there are probably loads of people who don't eat normal meat. Whatever counts as "normal meat" anyway.

'Are we going to get a takeaway then? You must be starving.'

'Are you allowed to order one?'

'I'm sure if you told them then we'll be allowed.'

We get pizzas at birthdays and that but I've never been involved in the ordering of one. If I ever wanted something then I'd just walk out of the gates. But it would be nice to get a pizza today, just me and Jack. It would sort of be a nice way to end the weekend. We could even make it a tradition every Sunday night.

Me and Jack, already planning for the future. Except we're not. It's all inside my head. Am I hearing voices again? Nah, I didn't even hear voices in the first place. It was just assumed of me. There has to be some explanation as to why I'm so weird. As to why I won't make any attempt to get to know girls who are my own age and who I have so much in common with. As to why I won't speak to anybody older than me. Will hardly make eye contact with some of them.

I don't know when I first stopped speaking. I don't think it happened over night. I think it happened gradually. Whenever something happened that I didn't like I wouldn't talk about it. Talking about it only brought it out into the open. Brought back the pain. And over the years it got to the point where I wouldn't talk to anyone. No matter what they said to me. No matter what they called me, I wouldn't react.

At first it was really hard to keep it up with but after a while it became easier. People sort of expected it from me. They were probably pre-warned about the "phase" I was going through. I know Gillian was. That's why she gave it to me with both barrels; the most questions I've ever been asked in five minutes. She probably thought that she'd ask me so many questions all at once that there was bound to be one that I'd answer. But what she didn't know is that she ruined any chance she had with me in the first five seconds.

"I'll be the one to change your life," was the first thing she said to me. Well, she certainly changed my life and let me go off into the hands of the sort of people who shouldn't have been allowed into the country in the first place.

Where did that come from?

Must be Jack's influence. Jack, the bad influence on me, or, Jack, the one who's made me see the light? Maybe I'll give up eating halal too. Apparently, it says on the door, or window, of a takeaway whether or not it's halal so I'll have to look out for the signs and avoid those type of places.

I wonder what else I should avoid. Jack could become my guru on how I should live my life. He's already decided what meat I shouldn't eat. Next he could tell me what kind of people I should be friends with. I wouldn't need to cut anyone out so that shouldn't be too difficult, but perhaps I could start going to places where there would be loads of similar minded people to Jack. Boys like Jack. Boys my age.

Even though I'm nothing much to look at I could dress to impress – well show off my boobs – and I'm sure that if Jack said that he knew me, and said a few complimentary things, then somebody would take an interest in me. I don't think there's anything much wrong with the way I dress, but improvements can always be made.

For once I'm actually looking forward to the future. I just need to get a difficult couple of days out of the way and then I can let my life begin. I wonder what Jack normally does at the weekend. I know I'm too young to drink still but there are other things I can do. And if Jack introduced me to people he knew then I'd be able to speak to them. They wouldn't have to know anything about the mute "phase" I'm going through. They could think I was a perfectly normal girl, or, at least, as normal as I can ever come across to people.

But Jack's going coy on me. He doesn't want to commit to anything past today. He knows that it's not his choice whether he can see me again. It only takes Gillian to say that Jack being here is not good for my situation and he'd be gone.

And she'd do that. Gillian. As soon as she finds out that I'm laying the blame at her feet she'll never let me see Jack again. But I'm still going to do it and I want to be there when she finds out. When she listens to today's tapes for the first time. I want to see her face. I want to see her try and squirm her way out of it.

Jack thinks I shouldn't be so harsh on her and that maybe she was only doing what she thought was best. But I know that she didn't care. She's not the same as me and Jack.

The quadroon.

Should she even be in the country? Look at the evidence; all the people who've taken advantage of me are a different colour to me and Jack. They're all against us. Only looking out for themselves. Taking advantage of vulnerable people for their own gain. Sexual or monetary; it's all the same.

What should happen is: when they hear the tapes, Gillian should be suspended straight away. Of course I'd still need a Key Worker but Jack should be given more responsibility. After all, look at what he's done for me. And in such a short space of time. He made me wake up and realise that I don't deserve to be taken advantage of just because I'm fat and live in care. My life is actually worth living. My life; which is being ruined by people who don't even belong in my country.

Thank you Jack. Thank you for everything you've done and taught me. Thank you. And long may it continue.

Chapter Twelve

Dan and his subordinate are back to torment me some more. Unfortunately, Gillian is still by my side, but at least Jack is here. We're in what they like to call the "Chill Out Zone" but it should really be called the "Interrogation Zone". Because that's all that ever happens in here. Whenever something goes missing in the house, this is where some of the staff bring us to be interrogated whilst the rest search our rooms. And even though I've never stolen anything I still get dragged in. Accused even though I've done nothing wrong.

Gillian's looking stressed today. It's her third day on the trot and I can tell she's looking forward to her three days off. But she's going to have next weekend off as well, if I get my way. And there's no reason why I shouldn't now that I've got Jack by my side.

But Jack looks tired. Unshaven. And I don't think he washed his hair last night. To be honest he looks like he wasn't expecting to be here today. He was already having a little "chill out" when I strolled in so we haven't had a chance to chat and plan our activities for the day.

Dan's looking smug. It must be because he's been listening to my tapes and he's ready to arrest Gillian for neglecting me. But his subordinate looks like she means business as well. She's an old friend of Gillian's so no doubt she'll have a mountain of excuses ready in preparation to defend her with.

Looking at Dan and his subordinate though, I get the feeling that something is not quite right. I'm not sure what's happened to the recordings. Jack didn't even bother to check that the device was working properly and even recording what we said.

'Let's get started shall we?' Dan says, like I've put him out for taking so long to make an appearance this morning. 'We'll start with you Mr Ford, shall we?'

"Mr Ford"? Jack Ford. That must be his full name. Dan sounds smarmy when he speaks, but Jack's looking relaxed. Perhaps too relaxed, slouching in a chair to my left.

'We've just had the results of your CRB check come back. Came back clear of course. Just like your last one. But they don't always show everything up without some proper police work.'

I look at Jack. He's still slouching in his chair. He's looking towards Dan but not at him. It's like he knows what he's about to say but he's waiting for Dan to say it, rather than give the game away in case he's bluffing.

'What would you say your political views are Jack? Off the record.'

"Off the record", what does that mean? I want to ask, but you know all about my situation.

'I don't vote,' says Jack.

'Why's that? None of the parties represent your views?'

Again Jack doesn't flinch. But I don't understand where this is going. What this has got to do with me. After all, this is all about me, isn't it? Otherwise what am I doing here?

'If you had to define your political views into "left" and "right", as in left-wing and right-wing, which side would you be on?'

Again, no response.

'Come on Jack, Gillian says you've been doing nothing but talking all weekend. And I've listened to some of the tapes. Was there a reason why you paused the recording sometimes when you started speaking?'

I'd noticed him doing that but I didn't think it was significant. After all, it matters what I said, not what he said. He was recording himself asking the questions but sometimes pressed pause when he gave his response to my answer.

'Not talking today Jack?' Dan asks.

But I want to talk. I want to ask why this is relevant. A couple of days ago they were desperate for me to talk; now they're more bothered about what Jack's been saying.

'I showed your picture to a colleague of mine: D.C. Iain Thompson. Do you know him?'

'Short-arsed Scouse get who thinks he's funny?' Jack says instantly. I think it's funny but don't laugh. Dan, his subordinate and Gillian aren't impressed.

'This might be off the record Jack but if I was you I'd still be careful about what you say. He recognised you. But then you'd probably know that. To be fair, he didn't know your name. But then he certainly knows some friends of yours. They're very active in a far right protest group who've made quite a name for themselves. And not a name you'd want to be associated with. Well, certainly not if your wanting to pursue a career in this sector.'

Jack's still not ruffled. He's still slouched in the same position. But as Dan said, he's not done anything wrong. His CRB check came back clear; it's just that he knows some people. He might have known them for a long time. It doesn't mean anything significant.

'You ever been to one of their marches Jack?'

'You know I have.'

'Why did you go on it?'

'Why not?'

'Well, it's not something everyone would do. Can be quite dangerous if things get out of hand.'

'Whose side are you on?'

Four pairs of eyes stare at me. They can't quite believe that I've finally spoken. Spoken up for Jack. Spoken up for myself. Questioned what Dan wants to achieve by all this.

'It's not about sides,' Dan says. 'It's about finding out what happened and who are the best people to be dealing with the situation.'

I look at Jack. I want him to tell Dan and his subordinate what I told him about Gillian. She's definitely not the best person to deal with my situation. So what if Jack has "right-wing views", whatever that means. At least he cares. At least he wants to make sure that Adam and his "friends" can't take advantage of anyone else.

'These checks have to be made,' Dan says. 'I'm only doing my job.'

I hate that phrase. A job. That's all this will ever be to these lot. A way to pay the bills. Once my case has been solved then I'll be forgotten about. That's how they feel, the Three Mongamigoes. All for one and one for all within their little group. So I was right. There is only Jack who I can rely on. And no doubt they'll take him away from me. Stop me from seeing him. All to make their job easier. All to make sure they can carry on "doing my job". Even though one of them clearly isn't up to doing their job.

Although I've finally spoken to someone in authority for the first time in years, I've got to leave the room. They want to decide the next step forward. More like they want to listen through all the recordings to see if they need to destroy the evidence that Jack has got me to confess.

So then, how does getting justice make you feel in modern Britain? Guilty.

Chapter Thirteen

I've been left in my room, all alone unfortunately. I don't even know if Jack's still here. I left my room to try to go and look for him but my pass wouldn't let me off the landing my room is on. They haven't blocked my pass like that for ages. Of course I could kick-off, and that would get me some attention, but that will never be my style.

I'm the strong silent type, like Jack. What they've revealed about him in the Interrogation Zone hasn't changed my opinion on him. A lot of people don't like foreigners. They don't like them for no reason. But I've got a reason. One of them took my virginity. Another eight of them took my dignity. Maybe they didn't do it purely because I was white, but maybe they took advantage of the fact that I am white. They took advantage of the fact that I've constantly been let down my whole life and that no one has ever treated me as an individual, and actually tried to solve my problems rather than just keep passing me on.

I probably got it all wrong. I thought they were out to get Adam, but they're not. They're going to try to protect him in any way they can. And that way is to get Jack out of the picture. But it's too late. I now know the truth and I'm going to make sure that everyone else does. I'm going to speak up. For myself. For Jack. For everyone else who knows the truth and feels the same way as us.

But why are they sticking up for Adam? He's committed a crime. If it were Jack who'd done that then he'd be thrown in jail, and even when he was let out he wouldn't be able to go back to living a "normal" life.

Are they even trying to find Adam and his "friends"? Do they even want to find them? Just because I wasn't dragged from the street against my own will doesn't mean that Adam wasn't as calculating and as cunning as any other rapist. Because that's what he is: a rapist.

Maybe I am my own worst enemy. Because I never speak, no one knows what I'm thinking. Knows what it is I'm going through. All because I mask it with silence. If I'd have been more vocal, shed some crocodile tears during interviews, would they have been more interested in helping me?

No.

Of course they wouldn't. They wanted me to stay quiet. They need me to stay quiet. The least number of people who find out that's there is a group of men who go round targeting "Cheap White Meat" the better. That way they don't have to do anything about it.

I need to speak to Jack. I need to find out more about what Adam and his "friends" are really like. I never felt like I got to know any of them. Not even Adam. Well, certainly not much about him as a person. They were happy to ask me questions about myself, about what it was like to be "Rosie Red Cheeks", but they were very secretive about themselves.

I bet that's why I've been sent to my room. As soon as I said, "Who's side are you on?" they knew that I'd started to work out what was going on. Now they need to keep me and Jack apart so that we can't force them to do their job properly.

But who knows what they'd find if they started looking into Adam and his "friends" affairs. Nibbling on a "chicken nugget" could be just the start of it. And I've still got Gillian to deal with. I think for now that should be my main priority: making sure than she can't ruin my life and hold me back any more.

Of course doing that is easier said than done. How exactly do you tell someone they've failed at their job? Especially someone like Gillian. Every time I've seen her having a conversation with another person she constantly talks over them. No matter what the other person says she can't be listening to them because she's constantly speaking.

So I need another option. I need to put my writing skills to the test. My writing is still quite juvenile, but it doesn't matter what it looks like, it's the words that count. And I know just the person who I want to read it out to Gillian.

Chapter Fourteen

The Three Mongamigoes are smirking at each other in the Interrogation Zone. There's no sign of Jack. He's not been mentioned. Maybe this is part two of them wiping any evidence of his existence in the case, after wiping his recordings.

Dan's subordinate looked so fake when I handed her my letter. Like a teacher who knows they've got to tell a primary school kid that they like their drawing, even though they couldn't care less, simply because it's part of their "job". But Gillian still looks calm; like she knows that her shift is almost over and she'll be free from even thinking about me for three days.

But I'll be on her mind. Oh, I'll certainly be on her mind.

The subordinate has to refocus her eyes when she unfolds my letter and tries to make sense of my scribble.

'Is this for me to read out?' she asks.

I fix my stare at her and nod.

'Very well,' she says, as if she can't see that I'd ever have a thought that was worth sharing with them, let alone committing it down to paper, as she begins reading.

'I would like to bring to attention the neglect which my Key Worker Gillian Blackstock has subjected me to.'

'Rubbish.'

Predictably, it's Gillian who's started speaking.

'When have I ever neglected you? I've always been here for you. Trusted you. I've treated you more like a daughter than a patient.'

I have to laugh at that one. The big guns are out. The clichés. But it's three against one. And my ammunition doesn't work properly.

'Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?' Dan asks me. '"Neglect" is a very serious allegation.'

'I mean every word of it. Most of it is on the tapes.'

My voice sounds weird inside my head. Childlike. I need someone here in support of me, but the person who is supposed to be here to help me is the one I'm complaining about. Why can't Jack be here? What have they done with him? I don't mean "I hope they haven't hurt him", but I bet that they've made it impossible for him to see me again.

Dan's subordinate asks him if she should carry on. Gillian's still chuntering away, claiming that what I've written is lies, but Dan gets her to be quiet. A rare skill he's got there. A very rare skill indeed.

'It's four months since Gillian became my Key Worker. In that time she made no effort to find out what I got up to when I would leave the house for sometimes up to 12 hours at a time.'

'That's a lie. I always asked you but you wouldn't speak. You never speak. That's why I can't get through to you.'

This isn't going to work. For some reason I thought Gillian would be stunned into silence by what my letter had to say. Just goes to show how stupid I really am. But Gillian won't shut up. No matter what Dan tells her. She's saying everything she can to make herself look like the good guy.

Apparently I'm "vindictive". I'll have to look up what that means because I've never needed to know before. Dan's subordinate is trying to continue to read my letter so Gillian's started to get personal towards her. Claiming that she thought that the pair was "true friends", but she says it so that it sounds like a dig a me because she knows that I've never had any "true friends".

This is why I don't like getting involved with the police and social workers. No one ever just accepts what I say. It's as if they don't believe that I can have a single thought inside my head that can be significant.

I suppose I have been naïve by writing the letter but I needed something to happen. I've been let down my whole life and always by the people who've supposed to have been looking out for me. But these same people have also got something out of it themselves. People make good money by attempting to look after me.

And then came along Jack. A volunteer on work experience. Someone who wants to make a difference. But he's been taken away from me because they believe he's a bad influence.

I've been neglected to the point we're I've been under psychiatric observation for two years. I've been neglected to the point where I've been free to roam the streets and fall into the hands of a paedophile group. I've been neglected to the point where when I try and stick up for myself no one will listen. So I've got nowhere to go because the ones who are in charge of me don't want to accept that there's a problem. A problem with _them_.

I can't take this anymore. I need to get away. When I stand up, Gillian tries to follow me, but I'm too quick for her and manage to get out of the Interrogation Zone before she can stop me.

Gillian follows me down the corridor and she can certainly shift when she wants to. The other Key Workers are quickly on the scene so there's nowhere for me to go. When they ask what's going on, Gillian's quick to give her side of the story, making it look like I'm the one in the wrong again.

'Liar', I scream.

'Just go to your room and calm down for a bit. You don't know what you're saying.'

I've got no choice about going to my room by the way. There's four Key Workers, one for each limb, so I'm being taken there whether I like it or not. As I'm slowly dragged to my room, Gillian lets the other Key Workers know what a mistake she's made by letting Jack work with me. She says that my head is now filled with such rubbish that I've become delusional.

But I've not. I know exactly what I'm saying. I might not be able to get Gillian sacked today, but I'll do it. There'll be someone who'll listen to me. If I tell enough people then surely one of them will listen and want to help me. I know that there's no one who works here who'll help me, so I need to get out. I need to find Jack even though I've got no idea of where to begin looking.

Chapter Fifteen

They've left me to calm down for what seems like hours. I've not even tried my door to see how far I can get. I don't want to see them, any of them. I'm listening to the radio station that Jack likes, trying to get an understanding of how his mind works. Of where he's likely to spend his time. He didn't tell me much about his personal life. We didn't exactly speak like normal people do so I don't even know which area he lives in, or if there's any place he goes every week.

I suppose I could see if I can get the internet on my laptop, but I know they'll be monitoring my access. That's why they put me under 24 hour supervision the last time. It was after I went down to Megabites one afternoon for my "shift" only to find that it was shut. In fact, the whole area was suspiciously quiet, as if a whole community didn't want to be seen.

So I panicked. I suppose deep down I knew that what I was doing was wrong and that if I got caught then I'd have some serious questions to answer. But I panicked because I thought I was the who'd get the blame. Of course, I've learnt since then that shouldn't be the case. It's just that a few other people don't seem to understand that.

I'd got rid of my mobile long before then so I didn't have any way of contacting Adam. And we didn't have any official agreement in place. If I happened to be there eating my chicken nuggets, and Adam saw me, then more often than not I'd be asked if I wanted to wait upstairs. After a while one of his "friends" would turn up. Because he'd known me for a few weeks before he introduced me to his "friends", he knew that I'd turn up for three days in a row and then I wouldn't be seen for three days.

My days out coincided with Gillian's shift pattern. When she was on duty then I'd be out all day. When Kate was on duty then I'd spend as much time in my room as possible.

Kate started two weeks before Gillian. Thinking about it now, the pair of them have been "caring" for me longer than anyone else. However, since they've taken over, my mental state has done nothing but deteriorate. Not only do I stay silent whenever Kate comes into my room, I do something else:

I masturbate.

It doesn't do anything for me and I certainly don't find Kate attractive. I don't know why I first started doing it, but it annoys Kate. She says that I'm a disgusting girl and I'm going to harm myself. I don't know if Kate's told anyone else that as soon as she walks into my room that I put my hand inside my knickers and start myself frigging myself stupid. Gillian's certainly never mentioned it and neither have any other members of staff or The Others.

If Kate tries to ignore what I'm doing to myself, I take my clothes off and start moaning, licking my fingers when I've got all whet, but it's just for show. But Kate can't stand to watch me "harm" myself. So she leaves my room eventually. However, whilst Kate's on duty I don't dare leave my room. I don't know why but for some reason I'm more scared of Kate when she talks to me than Gillian. I'm sure that if I tried to go out when Kate's on duty then she'd follow me and find out where I'm going. And I'm not that daft that I'm going to start getting myself off in public.

It was on Gillian's final day of her shift pattern that Megabites suddenly shut down so I'd been there the previous two days. I don't know if it was shut down by the police. They haven't told me too much about their investigation. But of course, that could be because they don't want an investigation to be taking place in the first place. If it was shut down by the police then they'd have been watching the place beforehand. They'd have seen me entering the two days before. Seen me sat in the window for a while and disappearing for a few hours before returning for another potion of chicken nuggets; all without ever leaving the building.

Because I'd been there the previous two days, I thought that I'd get the blame if the police were involved. I thought that Adam might think that I'd been the one who'd told the police. So that's why I panicked. Adam knew where I lived. He could have been after me. So I needed a way out.

I did consider just gathering up my £380 and going on the run. But I knew I needed a better solution. A more final solution. However, I didn't get long to research my "final solution". Within twenty minutes of me searching for hints on how to commit suicide I lost my internet connection. Of course, that happens from time to time, but I could still again access for other websites so that's when I knew they were hacking my laptop and blocking certain sites.

I don't think I wanted to die but at the time it didn't seem like I had any other option. Going to Megabites was the only release I had and at the time I couldn't see anything good ever happening in my life.

I'm pretty certain that before I went into care there wasn't anything wrong with me. Well, certainly not with my mind. Maybe my psychotic side was lying dormant in me all that time and was triggered by the incident that led to Mum being sent down. I haven't seen Mum for four years and I haven't had any contact with her whatsoever for about eighteen months. Although on a day like today it might be nice to have a mum to turn to.

Chapter Sixteen

Kate's just walked into my room so you know where my fingers have gone. Not all of them, I don't actually want to cause myself any harm. Normally when Kate walks into my room after her three days off she doesn't have much to say but today she has to recap what happened over the weekend.

Gillian didn't come back into my room before she finished her shift last night but I hope that I never see her again. Although I certainly don't want another person like Kate, who's got me into such a state that I taste my whet fingers before sliding them back inside me.

Jack.

Jack's just been mentioned. I honestly thought last night that I'd never hear his name mentioned again.

'Can I see him?'

Kate takes a step back when she hears my voice. My hot sweaty voice. I never knew I could do sultry. She tries to trick me by saying that if I stop abusing myself then she will see what she can do, but I know she's lying. I want Jack. I need Jack. Maybe I can start some new kind of protest movement: I'll wank myself stupid until they'll let me see him.

However, I'm not that much of a weirdo. Although I've got no intention of behaving normally in front of Kate. Normally she just walks out of the room but today she strides over to me and grabs my offending arm.

'Get off me!'

'It's about time you started behaving yourself young lady. I think it's time we became tough on you.' I try to smear my whet hand all over her face but she's too strong for me, and pushes me away. And I know you probably think that it should be spelt "wet", but please take a moment to listen to my reasoning. You "whet your appetite", which apparently means to moisten. My fingers are now moist, i.e. "whet". The revolution starts here.

Anyway, back to Kate. She's the type of Key Worker who believes there is some kind of drug that will sort my head out. Like the good old days when patients used to be locked up in lunatic asylums and force-fed drugs that rendered them virtually brain dead.

So do I think I'm lucky to be alive in this day and age? An age when everyone has the right to live a happy and full life no matter what aliments they have. To be honest, I don't know. On the one hand, I've got just enough of a glimmer of hope of becoming a relatively normal adult. However, on the other, how am I going to get over the childhood I've had? In that respect, maybe being so brain dead that I didn't know what was happening to me wouldn't have been such a bad option after all. And I've heard stories of people in care who've had it far worse than me. Inside this care home its only myself who abuses me. I've never been sexually assaulted by any of the carers, just neglected.

A nurse has been called for so I start to try to act relatively normal. Passive aggressive I think it's called. Or maybe that's what The Biter's behaviour is called. I've never seen this nurse before and from behind he's got a hint of a look of Jack about him. For about a 10th of a second I let myself think that he's come back to save me but it soon becomes obvious that it's not anyone I like or I'm going to get along with.

I sit on my bed and stare blankly at the wall as this guy attempts to bond with me. For some reason he thinks it's a good idea to ask me if I've ever been tested; you know, for sexual infections, what with my profession.

Thanks. Now I think I have A.I.D.S.

I don't know how some of these "professionals" mind's work sometimes. I honestly don't think this day can get any worse. I've just been presented with a little cup that I'm expected to piss into so they can check me for chlamydia.

I did use condoms you know. And not just to stop myself from getting A.I.D.S, but to stop myself from getting pregnant and from having that baby taken away from me. If I did somehow get pregnant whilst I was still in care then I'd get the baby taken away from me, no doubt causing another Resource Consumer's life to be ruined in the process.

I'm squatting over the toilet expectantly but nothing's coming out. I can hear Kate waiting outside, along with Dr Protection. This is so humiliating but I can't leave without my sample.

'Turn the tap on if you're struggling,' one of them says. I don't know which one because they both sound pretty similar. I look at the tap, although it's my instinct to not want to turn it on I know that I can't leave the bathroom until I've provided them with what they want.

Chapter Seventeen

Good news for once. I don't have chlamydia. But another nurse is going to come in tomorrow to do further tests. A female nurse. Why they couldn't have left the chlamydia test until tomorrow as well, instead of subjecting me to Dr Protection, is beyond me. He's keen on prescribing me some new anti-depressants that some drugs company is hoping to make millions from.

Happy pills. Another masking agent. Anything to avoid solving the cause of the problem. I always get the choice over which pills I take but I get hassle if I don't take any. As much as possible I try to avoid pills full stop. I've seen and heard about too many people getting addicted.

When I was first forced to live here there was a girl living here who was addicted to painkillers. She'd always be claiming that she was in pain or falling down the stairs and hurting herself so that they'd be forced to give her pills. She even once tried to come to an arrangement with me where by I faked pain and passed the pills on to her. I did it a couple of times. It was the only way to get some sleep at night because she was in the room next to me and used to scream the place down.

I'd love to see her medical records. Just to see how old she was when she first got prescribed painkillers and how long it took her to get to the stage where she'd break her own ribs just to get her fix. The last I saw of her she was being taken away in an ambulance.

I don't know if she texted me with an update; I "lost" my mobile the day after. I wonder if it's still "lost". I could always get Jack to go and "find" it for me. That's something for me to try to remember to ask him the next time I see him. I can't write it down though because they'd be looking to take it off me. I'll have to keep it a secret and when I get it back I'll have to hide it so that they can't keep tabs on me.

Some woman who looks like an ostrich that's been shopping at _Marks & Spencer's_, and smells of stomach turning perfume, has come into to see me. I've seen her a couple of times during my troubles, but she's always stayed in the background previously so she must have licked enough arses down to the years to get promoted because she claims she's been put in charge of my case.

"My case". That's another phrase I hate. Been put in charge of the "nutcase" more like. Straight away, I ask her if I can see Jack, but like all adults she ignores whatever I say because she thinks that what she's got to say is far more important.

However, there's more good news. My complaint against Gillian is being officially looked into. There's bad news as well though. I've got to run through the updates Gillian put in my file with this woman to see if I agree with them or whether I feel that Gillian's been trying to claim that she's been doing more with me than she actually has.

This woman calls herself Mrs Robinson. Always Mrs Robinson. Never Miss or Pamela, which is what I think her "P" stands for. I can tell that she's not used to dealing with people like me on a one to one basis. Whenever she asks me a question, and I don't answer her, she tilts her head sideways and nods her head forward like she's about to peck the answer out of me.

Even though Mrs Robinson is one of the "fakes", I've got to talk to her. I've got no choice. The only other option is to sit in my room and fake an orgasm in front of Kate. I still want Jack though. I need Jack. I can't do this without him by my side.

I try to do a deal with Mrs Robinson but she's not having any of it. Everything has to be on her terms. I ask her if I'm allowed out today and she says that I have concerns that are more pressing.

She starts reading out some of the notes that Gillian has written but she's going about it the wrong away. She's reading out the dates like 21/03 but that means nothing to me. I need to know if it was a Monday or a Tuesday etc. Depending on what day it was would depend on what time Adam would normally turn up. For example, he'd always be late on a Friday because he went to prey. And he had to sign-on on a Wednesday afternoon so he would be late then otherwise he'd lose his housing benefit, as well as his JSA, and he said that the rent on a five bedroom house is expensive these days. Once I got to work out his routine then I'd fit mine around his.

I take my file from Mrs Robinson and read the notes. Gillian's surprisingly eloquent in her writing. She talks a lot about what she'd like to achieve with me but very little about what improvements she's got out of me. I also look at what Kate's been writing about me. One day sticks out in my mind because that's the first day I masturbated in front of her.

"What's this, some kind of Aprils Fool?" she asked, but it's a trick I'm still playing four months on. Thinking about it now, I think that was my way of telling Kate that something had changed in me. My way of telling her I was no longer a virgin.

Kate has mentioned it but it wouldn't make any sense unless you knew the truth. She's written that I let myself become "hot and flustered in her presence". Well, I suppose that's one way of describing the effects of masturbating.

I don't know what Mrs Robinson's hoping to get out of this but we're not really getting anywhere. There's been far too much happening in my life that one thing has to take priority over The others. To some people, making sure that Adam and his "friends" are caught and thrown in prison should be the priority, but they've gone out of my life, for good. Whilst Gillian and Kate are still here.

Apparently, I can't "cherry pick" which Key Workers I want to look after me. I'm not qualified to know enough about my situation. That makes me wonder exactly what qualifications I would need to know which people I feel I can and can't trust; after all who else knows what's going on inside my head?

I think I'm starting to annoy Mrs Robinson by keep mentioning Jack. I'm not mentioning him directly all the time but saying things like "I told Jack all about that day." "Jack wouldn't have let me get in that state." But if I don't get it through to her that I want to see "that little racist thug", which no doubt she thinks he is, then she won't let me see him. Somehow, she's the one with all the power preaching that "The child's welfare should always be of paramount importance."

That's a nice mantra to have. Now please put it into practice and bring Jack to me. Thank you.

Chapter Eighteen

I've still not got my Jack so I've still not made any progress. We all had a session booked in with some psychiatrist woman today. Kate told me that I'd be excused but I followed her out of my room and went to the Interrogation Zone.

The Others don't like it when I join them. They're a proper little tight knit group. Whenever a new girl arrives they all gang up on her, but if she "proves" herself then she can join the group. When I arrived I was invited for my initiation, but it didn't go down too well when I made it clear that I didn't want to be a part of it. The Biter is the only one who's been here longer than I have. Therefore, she's the one who tells any "new girl" that I'm "not one of them".

Today's session is one of those where everyone has to talk about their feelings and what triggers the type of behaviour that means they're incarcerated in a place like this. I don't intend to speak, but I like listening to what The Others have to say. It helps me to understand them. See what progress they've made. See what makes them to go off on one for a couple of days.

These sessions normally all start the same. The Others will take the piss out of whichever psychiatrist can't find enough work in the private sector that they are reduced to working here with the likes of us. And how much The Others will take it seriously always depends on how much that psychiatrist can laugh at themselves. In a weird sort of way, the biggest idiots are normally the more successful ones.

I used to speak in these sessions. A bit. I'd say the odd word, but one of The Others always had to shout me down so I had to repeat everything I said anyway.

'Where's lover boy?' asks The Psychotic.

'Oh, he's well fit him,' suggests The Biter, before I've even have a chance to consider whether I'm going to shock The Others by speaking to them.

'He never did knock on my door,' says The Self-Harmer.

'That's because he's a "Chubby Chaser"', informs The Psychotic, and they all burst out laughing.

I am the biggest girl in here, I'm not denying that, but a couple of them have very little room left to talk in. Even today's psychiatrist is having a little chuckle with them, or maybe I'm just paranoid that everyone laughs at me. Maybe even Jack laughs about me when he goes home at night. But it's not all my fault. I wasn't supposed to be like this. It's because of the way I've been mistreated that I've ended up like this. People really should take that into consideration.

'So what's your boyfriend like Miss?' The Alcoholic asks. They always call female psychiatrists, or teachers, "Miss" but never call male ones "Sir".

'He's okay, could make more of an effort, but that's men for you,' she says, forgetting that the golden rule, when you're speaking to The Others about your private life, is to make sure that your answer doesn't invite a response.

'Does it hurt when he shoves his cock up your arse?' The Biter asks.

The psychiatrist doesn't verbally say "Yes" but her reaction gives it away. The Others find it hilarious and start rolling around, practically dry humping each other. I think it surprises some of the people who come here just how much we all know about life; well real life, not all that rubbish they try to teach you in school.

When she's regained some kind of control, the psychiatrist tries to remind The Others that they've got a session to be getting on with. After a few lewd remarks, about cock size, how many vibrators she has, how old she was when she lost her virginity, the session can finally begin.

This is the part where I am treated as if I'm not even in the room once again. The psychiatrist doesn't even make any reference to the fact that I wasn't present in the last session, or indeed any of her previous sessions, or even acknowledges that I might have something that I want to say today.

The Others are all saying what their goals are for the future. The Self-Harmer wants to bring in a couple of children into the world. She's mentioned this before and that's why the police are called if she manages to get out. If she'd have been working down at Megabites then she wouldn't ever have worn a condom. I'm not sure if she'd offer herself to the first bloke she saw but she definitely comes across that way.

Apparently, she's got plenty of experience in looking after babies because she used to help her mum out with her little brothers. I'm not really sure what went wrong so that she ended up in a place like this. She has a tendency to change her story depending on how the mood is within the group. If someone else was sexually abused then you can guarantee that it was nothing compared to what she went through. If someone lost a family member in a motorbike accident then you can guarantee that her family were packed into a people carrier when they had a head-on crash on the motorway. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit there, but you get the picture.

If there was just two of us in a place like this then I might get on better with The Self-Harmer. I don't mind her that much as a person, but when she's in the "Gang of Four" then she's got to change because she doesn't want to be excluded from the group as she wouldn't be able to cope on her own.

'So are you going to tell me about Jack?'

I must have been daydreaming because I didn't hear the psychiatrist the first time. The Others all have their eyes fixed on me like they want to hear my answer, but I don't know the answers to the questions they want me to talk about.

And what do I say about Jack? I still don't know if I'll be allowed to see him again. I might be taken into a room one day and told that Jack's been told to stay away from me and that I should erase any memories I have of him from my mind because it will only hinder my "recovery".

I once was told to do that after I'd been living with a foster couple for a bit. I didn't particularly like this couple, she smelt of eggs and he was just boring, but they were apparently interested in adopting me. For three months all I got told was how rare it was for a couple to be interested in adopting a child my age. I was about 12 at the time and was constantly told how this was my big chance. I was expecting everything to go through fine when one day I was picked up at school by some social worker and taken to my first children's home.

I never got any explanation. Never got any excuse. Just got told to forget about it and move on. I looked up a bit about the adoption process online, just to try to get a better understanding, but had to stop when I found out that adoptive parents could give the child back if they didn't like them. I wasn't exactly having a good day at the time so I couldn't read about it any further.

Of course though, Mum could have agreed to let me be adopted at first and then changed her mind. Although, predictably, no one has ever discussed that possibility with me.

I'm not saying that I'd have been some normal girl about to sit her GCSEs if I had have been adopted, but at least I'd have been given a chance to make something of my life. I can't even remember what the couple were called. When I was told to forget about them, I really did all I could to not give them a second thought.

For some reason, being rejected by that couple hurt me more than being rejected by Mum. Although to be fair, Mum didn't reject me. Well, not initially. She tried her best to make me feel special and wanted; to keep everything relatively normal, but then she lost her trial. For a while, I thought she only showed such an interest in me because it looked good in front of the courts. But as I've got older, I think she went cold towards me because she didn't want me to have to visit her in prison for at least 7 years.

I'm not suggesting that she should have been spared a custodial sentence because she had a daughter to look after, but I'm not really sure how much justice was gained by having two lives ruined.

However, there's a reason why I don't blame Mum for our relationship breaking down. Do you want me to tell you why? Haha, I'm not going to reveal everything to you that easily.

My dad is never mentioned. Ever. And I'm too shy to mention him. I don't even know if he knows he has a daughter, or maybe he's in the loony bin himself. Apparently, much of what I have wrong with me is hereditary, but Mum has always been relatively sane.

The Others moved on to talking about themselves when they realised that I wasn't going to start conversing with them. Although I am in the mood for talking today. But only to the right person.

Chapter Nineteen

Today really is my lucky day. Gillian's been suspended, pending further investigation. At least that means I won't have to see her for the foreseeable future, but at the moment it's not enough. I want her sacked from her job. Banned from working with vulnerable children ever again. A short prison sentence would be nice as well, but unless Dan and his subordinate investigate her private life in more detail, I doubt they're going to be able to get that to happen.

Gillian's suspension does pose one problem though. I'll need a new Key Worker in a couple of days. I put forward my suggestion but Dan and his subordinate just laugh at me.

Kate asks, 'What's so good about this Jack anyway?'

I'd tell her but I doubt she'd listen because it would show just how inept she is at her own job. Whilst I don't really like Kate, I don't want her to stop being my Key Worker now. Also, I wish I could stop touching myself when she's alone in the room with me. I need to tell someone about that. Tomorrow. That nurse woman who's coming down to see if I've caught anything, I'll try to tell her. I sure she's heard people tell her all kinds of weird shit so it won't actually sound like that big a deal to her.

Dan looks frustrated when I say that I want to see Jack again. Whilst he thinks he's got the perfect temperament to do this job, I know that I wind him up. I wind everyone up who likes to think they're "normal". But Jack is different. He doesn't want to be normal. I understand why he's here now.

If what's happened to me is made public then there'll be an outcry. If Adam and his "friends" go to court then there'd be people standing outside the court, protesting. But what good does that do?

That's why Jack's different. He did target me. He wanted to get me to speak because he knew that I had the evidence that could get these people convicted. Rather than just stand on a street with some placard asking for something to be done about the filth that has been allowed to darken our streets, he's decided to be more proactive.

I try to get Dan to acknowledge that something has to be done about Adam and his "friends" but he tries to side step the issue. He tells me that the police are investigating cases of child sexual exploitation from all sections of society. That might well be the case Dan, but what you're refusing to do is acknowledge that Adam and his "friends" thought that what they did was totally justifiable and even part of their culture. The problem that Jack has with that is certain people in the country are allowed to live outside the law because the police can't be seen to offend them.

I ask Dan again if I can see Jack. Again, he doesn't answer me directly. The guy really is a moron. Sometimes I get so frustrated with people. There are so many people who are paid to look after me, and make my life better, but they only look at it from their point of view. How it affects them. They never seem to understand that when they get to go home at night that I still have to be me. I've got nowhere to escape to. I don't get no holidays each year where I can get away from me for a while. I'm trapped.

Trapped inside this body that repulses people. Because I'm fat, people think I deserve what has happened to me because I'm too lazy to lose weight. But I've tried to lose weight. Tried exercising. Tried eating less. Tried eating healthily. But it's like my body has to store fat. It's like there's something in my subconscious that is telling my mind that I'm going to be abandoned at any time and that I won't have anyone to feed me.

I can feel myself starting to become hysterical. Kate is starting to panic because she doesn't know how to deal with me properly. Dan's subordinate tries to put her arm around me but I lash out at her. I don't like being touched at the best of times and I certainly don't like being touched by her. The one who has tormented me. Called me a liar. Is disgusted that I've dared to suggest that Adam and his "friends" have committed a crime.

They've called for back-up and once again Dr Protection has appeared out of nowhere. He's trying to work out the situation and I swear that Dan's subordinate thinks that he's arrived to see to her because she's been assaulted by some A.I.D.S infected teenage loony.

But she put her arm around me. I only removed it. With force, I'm not denying that, but I wouldn't have touched her if she hadn't have touched me. Dan's telling her to get a grip and because she's only his subordinate she has to do what her superior says, even though it grates on every feminist politically correct bone in her body.

Dr Protection suggests giving me some kind of sedative. Normally I'm against them but today I need something. I need to escape, even if it's only mentally. I need to be anywhere but here today, surrounded by this lot.

The one who puts me on edge. The one who doesn't believe a word I say. The one who is offended by everything I do. And the who thinks I'm dying from A.I.D.S.

I'm normally scared of needles, but when Dr Protection does his best to butcher me, it feels like a release. He's telling me to count down from ten. I want to block him out because I hate the sound of his voice but my mind isn't my own any more. By the time he's down to seven I can't keep my eyes open. Five's sounding far away and at four...

Chapter Twenty

...o'clock in the morning I woke up covered in sweat. That's the last time I'm taking any drugs. They could have done anything to me whilst I was knocked out. Dan's subordinate could have got herself strapped up and fucked my brains out.

I check myself, just in case, but everything feels normal. I'm not used to being awake at four in the morning. All throughout my troubles, sleep is the one that's never been a problem. In fact, when Kate's on duty I can sleep for up to 15 hours a day. Of course, I know that in the long run that's not going to do me any good but it's better than what I keep doing to myself in the short term.

I hate being sweaty as well. I have to shower at least once a day. I've got an en-suite bathroom that is perhaps one of the positive things that comes from living here. Plus, there's also someone who comes in to keep it clean for me. Although that's probably because they don't trust me with bleach or whatever it is that they used to keep my toilet smelling all lovely and fresh.

I bet that they knew my sedative would only last until the middle of the night but they wouldn't have cared. I'm someone else's problem now. They're not the ones who are going to be woken up if I start causing another scene. And what's that going to prove? They won't let me see Jack if I'm "distressed" all the time. They might not even believe anything I say about Adam and his "friends" if I continue to behave erratically.

Maybe that's what they want from me. Maybe I played right into their hands before by kicking off. Now they've got an excuse for discrediting everything I've said over the last couple of days. Maybe I'm one screaming session away from Adam having the case dropped against him and Gillian being allowed to return to work this week.

So I need to calm down. Think rationally. But that's hard to do when you've got a temperature and feel like you've been locked up in a cell unjustly. I need someone decent to speak to from the police. Not Dan and his cretin of a subordinate. I need to know how much of a part I'm going to play in the prosecution's case against Adam. Or even if there is going to be one.

On Saturday, they said that if I didn't speak up then Adam would get away with it. Maybe they were bluffing when they said that. Perhaps they assumed that I wouldn't speak, that there wouldn't be a case to answer, and that Adam and his "friends" would be free to do as they pleased.

But they underestimated me, and they underestimated Jack. They probably thought he was just some stupid directionless kid looking for some way to pass the time before he had to take a job that killed his soul. But Jack knows exactly where he's going and he's taking me down the same path, with my full blessing.

No wonder Dan is starting to look stressed. I bet he was expecting to be writing "case closed" on his little file about these allegations. But I need to find out who made these allegations in the first place. It must have been another girl in a similar situation to me. I hung around Megabites long enough to know that it wasn't common knowledge that there was a "chicken nugget" willing to be used and abused for a very reasonable fee.

There must be someone who can answer my questions. I keep trying to think back to the time I spent at Megabites. Seeing if there's anything that I saw at the time that means something significant now. Jack seems to think that I was targeted because I was in care, but I've no idea how many care homes there are around here.

But then maybe I'm thinking about it from the wrong angle. I'm the only one, who is a resident here at the moment, who was allowed relative freedom to come and go as they pleased. Because we're so far down the line we need more specialist care. When I was with foster carers, I used to go more places, but because I was young I wasn't let out on my own.

I wouldn't like to be the person who tried to control a 15 year-old girl who had just been put into care for the first time. If that's the type of girl that Adam and his "friends" have been grooming then she might have been more open about going to the police. She might have been naïve and thought that the police were there to look after and protect her, but they're not. The main priority of the police is to look after and protect Adam and his community.

When you get to the stage that I'm at you know there's no one who you can trust, so you don't bother trying to find anyone. You just keep everything to yourself and if you have a problem then you hope that it goes away.

But the problems never go away. They might be forgotten about by those who are supposed to be able to help, but they never get fixed. I know I didn't help myself by hardly speaking for ages, but I didn't speak because I didn't like hundreds of strangers sticking their noses in and knowing my business. And it was always the same type of people. People who thought they were doing good. People who cared more about rules and regulations, and making sure that I received the care that those rules and regulations stated that I should receive, rather than treating me like an individual.

But I am an individual. And a very complex one. I didn't ask to be put in care. And I didn't understand what was happening to me. I just had to learn to adapt to it. Quickly. When I was first placed with a foster carer I was told it would only be "temporary". At first, I wasn't encouraged to get too comfortable because Mum might have been allowed home at any time as soon as her court case finished.

She wasn't a bad Mum. She did her best, but she must have thought that she wanted more in life. More than just the two of us. I wouldn't say that I got jealous when she got a new boyfriend, but I didn't want things to change. I didn't want to go and live with someone else and I didn't want anyone else to come and live with us. So when it looked like things were about to change I had to do something about it.

I thought I'd never hear anything about it again until I was taken out of class one day at school and introduced to someone who said that she was a social worker. I remember being asked if I knew what a social worker did. When I told them that I didn't they thought that I was dumb. They thought that I didn't know what had been going on in my life around me. What they didn't know is that I'd never seen a social worker before. How are you going to know something exists if you've never had any use for it before? So I was taken off home to pack up some things. Whatever I could fit into a bag for an "adventure". An adventure that still shows no sign of ending.

Feeling thirsty, I go into my en-suite for a drink, but I need something sweeter. I can't remember the last time I prowled the corridors at this time of night. Some beats are coming out of The Alcoholic's room. I doubt she's still awake though; she's probably wearing a pair of industrial strength earplugs and just uses her "tunes" as some kind of defence tactic.

I'm not sure if the Nightshift Workers are notified if I leave my room. The C.C.T.V. is following me but unless someone is actually watching me right now there's not really much it can do. I head into the kitchen and select a drink. Whoever was on the rota to fill up the little dispenser of the cone shaped paper cups has ducked so I decide to swig it straight from the bottle. Why we can't be trusted have a cup that we can lay flat on a table is beyond me. It actually encourages The Others to throw their drinks around because they can't be bothered to stand up and go over to the sink. But then I suppose it justifies the "danger money" that the staff get here for attempting to look after us.

I'm not supposed to be in the kitchen unsupervised but my pass let me in, so they can add it to the list of situations where they've not looked after me the way they should have done. There's not really much to see in here but a piece of paper sticking out of a draw catches me eye. It's some form with a picture of some bloke attached to it. Some bloke with a naff haircut.

This form has got all Jack's details. His name, date of birth, address, home and mobile telephone numbers. Whoever left this lying around can have a promotion in my eyes. I find a pen in the kitchen unit and scribble down Jack's mobile number on a piece of scrap paper; making two copies of it in case one is discovered and "confiscated".

'You shouldn't be in here,' says some Nightshift Worker, about 10 minutes too late. I've already put everything back in the draw so my excuse about just wanting a drink looks sort of feasible as I head out of the kitchen without any fuss. Sometimes I think the staff here can't believe how compliant I seem to be. They think that they have total control over me. But they don't. They all let their guard down in front of me and let me get away with things The Others can't.

I mean look at it this way, I just got caught in an out of bounds area in the middle of night. I gave a meaningless apology and went back to my room with something very valuable in my possession. If I'd have tried to cause a fuss then I'd have been searched and they'd be keeping a close eye on me tomorrow. But they don't suspect a thing. That Nightshift Worker won't mention that I've been out of my room to anyone. So when I say that I want some fresh air tomorrow I should be allowed to walk around the block. To the nearest phone box.

Chapter Twenty One

I had two showers this morning. There's no way I'm going to let some nurse think that I'm a dirty bitch when she's exploring places that shouldn't really be explored by a middle-aged woman. I don't think this nurse is used to dealing with people like me. I've never seen her before and she doesn't stare at me like the rest that have had their "special training". She's just treating me like a normal person and asking me questions that don't seem like they are aimed at a victim of a child exploitation gang.

She asks me loads of questions about whether I've noticed any change, you know down there, but I tell her that everything is fine. I want to tell her about that thing I do in front of Kate but there doesn't seem to be a question that leads into it. Plus, I don't think this nurse is the right person to tell about that. I think my problem with that is more psychological.

I have to think when she asks me the last time I had sex and I tell her it was about three weeks ago. She doesn't even react any differently when she asks if I've paid for or been paid for sex. It's like she hasn't been briefed about what type of person I am and is only performing a "home" visit because I'm in an unofficial psychiatric hospital and might not react well to going into a hospital clinic surrounded by "normal" people.

I'm expecting to be asked more questions about my sexual activities but I'm just told to sit on the bed and to remove my clothes from my lower half so that she can take some samples. After she's taken a blood sample, Kate comes back into the room. She's struggling to make eye contact with me, like she's expecting me to start doing something, but I'm feeling too uncomfortable down there after being prodded and poked enough by the nurse.

I think Kate is also feeling guilty about having to sedate me yesterday. Whilst she's been one who has been keen to get me to try new drugs, she knows that just "knocking me out" isn't going to help me in the long term. Deep down, I've got the feeling that Kate wants to help me. It's just that she's a complete and utter twat so it doesn't matter how much she wants to help me, it's not going to happen.

Kate tries to lead me to my room but I take a left and go outside. It's still well before midday so none of The Others have been forced to get up yet. I can't remember the last time when I didn't stay in my room when Kate was on duty, but now I've got a choice to make. I could sit and wait for Kate to stop watching me before I go through the gates, but I know that as soon as she notices that I'm gone she'll try and find me, or I could go now and see if she will try to stop me.

She says something about how some fresh air will put some colour into my cheeks, but she shuts up when I give her a look because of what that implies. When I carry on walking, she doesn't try to follow me so I take my chance and walk as fast as I can without making it look like I'm going anywhere but for a stroll around the block.

Chapter Twenty Two

I walk past the first telephone box I come across. I don't want to make it too obvious as to what I'm up to in case Kate is following me. She might be feeling guilty over agreeing for me to be sedated me yesterday, but it led to me finding the one piece of information that is going to help me change my life, and ruin Adam's and his "friends"' lives.

There's a supermarket not far away, and I need some change anyway, so I head there. I'm actually going to spend some of my earnings as a "working girl" for the first time. The £20 note feels weird in my hand. Weird because I know that it's been held by one of them. I think for a moment whether I should keep it for evidence, you know, for finger prints and stuff, but I've touched it that many times that I doubt that any would still be on it.

I'm not really used to being in crowded places like this. Alone. When the checkout woman asks me if all I want is a bottle of coke I feel guilty and pick up some chewing gun and a chocolate bar. I keep looking over my shoulder in case Kate has followed me. Or maybe she's phoned Dan and his subordinate to let them know that I've gone "outside".

They could be on their way to try to find me. Or they could have radioed through for the uniform police to look out for me. Or plain clothes police. Everyone is a suspect. I need to watch out for people looking at me differently.

No.

I just need to act normal. Pretend that I'm okay. After all, I blend in perfectly. I'm in a supermarket on a Wednesday morning. It's full of fat people. Everyone knows that all fat people are on incapacity benefit because their obesity gives them a bad back.

Haha, I can be so cruel at times. No wonder I haven't got any friends.

I find the payphone and try to get it to work. For a moment, I think it's broken because it keeps spitting my pound coin out, but I read the instructions properly and find out that I've got to dial Jack's number first and enter my pound when he answers his mobile.

Jack sounds half asleep when he answers. I tell him that, 'It's me,' but he's none the wiser. When I tell him, 'Rosie Red Cheeks,' he says:

'You told me not to call you that. How did you get my number?'

'Was in the kitchen just lying around.'

He laughs and asks me where I am. I tell him but say to give me an hour because I've got to go back for a bit first so that Kate doesn't get too worried that I'm staying out for too long.

I feel better for hearing Jack's voice. He actually sounded pleased that I'd called. Not put out like most people would. After all, he's got some needy 15 year-old calling up, wanting to meet him. But Jack wants to meet me as much as I want to meet him; although I'd best not look too happy when Kate sees me because she might not be as lax at letting me out again.

Chapter Twenty Three

I don't know what the logic was in asking Jack to meet me at the spot where Adam first raped me. I suppose I wanted to prove that I could come here without freaking out. I told Jack to give me an hour but it's been far longer than that. I think. I really should get a watch. I don't know how he's going to get here because I forgot to ask, but when I see a car approaching I know it's him. I'd recognise that haircut anywhere.

I have to get into the back of Jack's car because there's some girl sat in the front. Suddenly, I'm a jealous little eight year-old again, but this girl saves her life when she tells me that she's the sister of one of Jack's friends. I've seen this girl somewhere else before but she's too busy introducing herself as "Lucy", to let me think straight.

And Lucy can talk. So much so that Jack's having to tell her to be quiet so that he's got a chance to speak to me.

'What time do you have to be back?'

'Whenever,' I say. I haven't got a clue to be honest. I've never fully been aware of my situation. Whether I'm technically breaking the law by going out through the gates. There's been that many court orders placed against me of who's in charge and who has the final say that I'm not sure if, Kate, Mrs Robinson or Dan and his subordinate has the final say on how I spend my days. All I know is that the choice is not supposed to me mine, but whilst they waste their time hesitating I'm the one busy being proactive out in the big wide world.

I now know where I've seen Lucy before. She came into Megabites one afternoon, drunk, shouting abuse at the staff and how I should get away from that place. She was arrested by the police whilst I was expecting some stranger to turn up for me to fuck, but not even Adam showed his face again that day. It sort of makes sense now.

Lucy's asking me to describe what Adam looks like, but she says she doesn't recognise him when I tell her. However, I recognise a couple of blokes she describes, especially some fat old bloke with a greasy beard who insisted that I called him "Daddy".

I want to ask Lucy how she knows this but I don't know if it's my place. She seems to have a temper on her and she's practically forming at the mouth when she mentions the "revenge" that she wants. And to think that I thought this girl was Jack's girlfriend. He's got far better taste.

Jack. He's the one who I was expecting to talk to, but he can't get a word in. Lucy's now bad mouthing the police. Whilst I agree with every word she's saying, I can't help but wonder what's made her get so angry.

I can't imagine Lucy being groomed like me. She's far too feisty. She'd have bitten "Daddy's" cock off if he'd have insisted that she deep throated him. But maybe that's why Jack once asked me if Adam and his "friends" ever offered me drink and drugs. Maybe they got Lucy paralytic before having their way with her. Maybe she got it far worse than me. She seems to have been seriously affected by something.

When she turns round to me, her sleeve rolls slightly up her arm and I notice that it's full of scratches, but she pulls is down when she catches me staring. She doesn't say anything to me but goes silent for a change. Jack notices the uneasy tension and starts the car engine.

I don't know how long we've been in Jack's car for but when the car's dashboard lights up the time on the clocks says 1:14 pm. Jack doesn't say where he's driving to but I soon get a clear indication.

Chapter Twenty Four

When I first came down this part of town I thought it looked different to anywhere I'd ever seen before. As I've said before, I'm not from round here so I didn't think anything of it, but looking at it now it really does look like we're in another country. A country far away, with people far different from me, Jack and Lucy.

As we drive down the street, I notice that I don't see another person who looks like us. When I used to go to Megabites that didn't really bother me. In fact, I quite liked it because I thought it would mean that no one would be able to tell that I was a teenage lunatic from a psychiatric house.

Of course, there used to be the odd Resource Consumer who'd be wondering around but they were only the ones who were trapped in the area and had no way of getting out. It's almost as if anyone with any prospects have upped and left and the people who've come in their place have been free to evolve their entirely different way of life.

Jack pulls up outside Megabites and Lucy mutters the most swear words and decretory comments about a certain type of men I've ever heard in 30 seconds, and that includes anything The Others could say put together.

Megabites is still closed, but there's a sign on the shutter saying "Under new management. New takeaway opening soon". This is the first time I've been back since I found it closed down. The rest of the street is now open for business again. It's like life is carrying on and nothing out of the ordinary has ever taken place.

But it always looked more normal in the day time when you'd see women and children in the street. It's when the sun went down that things would change. At the moment there's hardly any cars going past but that's not the case at night. And it's always the same cars, full of the same men. Always a spare seat inside, just in case.

I can't remember the last time I had something to eat, apart from the chocolate bar I didn't really want, so I suggest putting that right. Jack's more than happy for me to pay, but Lucy won't let him take advantage of me. I've quickly learnt that Lucy's the kind of person who you have to trick into thinking that they're in charge before you start manipulating them.

There's no shortage of takeaways to take the pick from along this road but Lucy looks like she's looking for a particular type of place. In the end, she's happy with a place where we can all sit around a table but will be in earshot of the staff behind the counter.

'So tell me your story then?' Lucy says, when we're waiting for a round of cheeseburger and chips to be made. I did think about ordering chicken nuggets but I couldn't do it to myself. And for once Jack said that he could forget about his irrational fear of halal meat.

'Not here,' I say.

'Why not? You scared?'

I look at Jack. I want him to tell Lucy to stop trying to freak me out, but I also want him to explain who Lucy is and why he's introduced me to her. Lucy's probably only a year or two older than me but she looks like she's had a harder life. She sits opposite me, next to Jack, and I notice that she's got her hand on his leg. There's nothing sexual in it but I wish that I was confident enough to touch Jack like that. Then I could draw from his strength.

'Do you want me to tell you my story?'

'Keep your voice down Luce,' Jack says.

'Why should I?' she replies, loud enough for everyone in the takeaway to have to pretend they haven't heard. Lucy lowers her voice a bit but anyone who wanted to hear could definitely listen in.

'Do you want to know why I hate the police? Because they won't listen to a word I say. I was being exploited by this lot,' she says pointing to the staff behind the counter, 'but when I put a complaint in the police dropped the case because they said I wouldn't be a credible witness and that the jury wouldn't believe my story.'

Mmm, for some reason I feel like I know exactly where she's coming from.

'But it gets worse than that,' Lucy continues, without any prompting from me or Jack. 'Not only did they drop my case; they also went to court to get me banned from this area.'

Great. So not only am I in the presence of a complete nutter, but the police could swoop in at any time and I'd be taken back to the nut-house and have Jack taken away from me again. When our order is called out Jack goes to collect it and I'm left alone with Lucy. Because Jack's thigh is not available for her to draw strength from she takes hold of my hand. I don't dare withdraw it because I need to keep control of her. As long as I keep her from freaking out then she'll eventually disappear and I'll be left all alone with Jack.

However, before then she's insistent on telling me what happened to her and asking if any of that happened to me. For a while, I can understand why the police might have thought that she wouldn't have been a credible witness, but hidden amongst all the hyperbole are some things that I can certainly relate to and fully I believe what she says.

It's not exactly nice hearing what Lucy's got to say but I've got a feeling that she feels like she's got to tell as many people as possible until she finds someone who believes her. I've certainly felt like that before.

I don't really like Lucy as a person but we sort of need each other. On our own we sound like lone nuts, but put together then our voices will sound stronger. And if it's happened to me and Lucy then it's certainly happened to other girls. Lucy claims that at least 30 girls have been exploited, but she either can't find them or get them to speak out. That makes me wonder how she found me but I can't get a word in to ask her.

'I knew as soon as I saw you sat in the takeaway that day you was involved. Three years ago they started on me. That's three years they've been getting away with it, at least. Who knows how many girls they could have got in that time?'

Me and Jack have finished our food but Lucy's hardly touched hers. Whilst I want Adam and his "friends" caught and brought to justice as much as she does, I don't want to spend all day around here. The staff behind the counter keep staring over at us and it only takes one of them to spread the word around and we're in trouble.

I suggest this to Jack and he forces Lucy to move on. However, she can't help but make some threatening comment to one of the staff behind the counter. Personally, I think she's wasting her breath because for all she knows the guy she's just suggested should be locked up for life could just be your everyday illegal immigrant saving up enough money to bring his family into the country to take advantage of our free healthcare and education system.

I've never found this street partially friendly, especially from the women around here, but I notice that today people are avoiding us as we walk back to Jack's car. People are either crossing the road or going inside shops they had no intention of going into until they saw us approaching.

Lucy's not exactly helping by making comments at most of them and although Jack's doing his best to quieten her down I'm relieved when we reach the safety of Jack's car.

'Do you think it's still going on?' I ask.

'Probably. But they're crafty buggers. After I put my original complaint in suddenly things changed for a couple of months. Everyone sort of went underground but I knew it wouldn't be for long.'

Jack starts driving but I've no idea where we're going. I certainly don't want to go "home" but I know that if I stay out for much longer then they're only going to come looking for me. If they find me with Jack then that's only going to make things difficult for us in the long-term.

Remembering something I had to ask Jack to find out the next time I saw him, I tell him to drive to a certain place to see if something I hid is still there and most importantly still working.

Chapter Twenty Five

Before I started going to Megabites I used to just wonder around in the countryside but that got a bit boring when the only people you'd see were middle-aged types in waterproof clothing carrying little plastic bags full of dog shit. The stories of the countryside being full of dirty old men waiting to pounce on vulnerable and naïve young girls must have been started in another country.

Lucy looks at me like I'm a proper freak when I lead her and Jack into the outbuilding of an abandoned farm house. I don't know why I made sure I could always find this mobile again if I wanted to, after all I could easily buy a new one, but this mobile is perhaps the most hi-tech and expensive thing which has ever been truly mine.

The mobile is still in one piece, hidden amongst a pile of rubble, but Lucy insists that it won't work. Jack ignores her and says that he's got a charger that he can plug into his car that might bring some life to it.

When Jack finally finds his charger, the mobile does work and I stare at it like I'm expecting an avalanche of text messages and missed calls to come through from the last few months, but nothing appears. Perhaps they are deleted if the phone isn't turned on for a certain period of time.

Jack suggests that I call his mobile. When he has my number flashing up on his mobile, I tell him that he can now contact me any time of day. Lucy sniggers at that suggestion but I don't care. I know that Jack cares about me. Wants to help me. Well, even if he doesn't he's going to anyway. I know his address now.

Jack starts to drive me back "home" and all the while Lucy can't stop talking. She's making so many plans like she's convinced we're going to be BFFs but I couldn't care less about her. It's only the person who keeps looking at me through his rear-view mirror that I'm interested in.

I pout at Jack. He looks away and smiles but I know he wants me. Lucy is just an excuse for it not to look too dodgy for us to be seen together. She continues to talk and I've realised that I've just got to say "Yeah" in the right place and she'll carry on regardless. It doesn't matter if I say anything else, she doesn't take it in. However, she does say something useful when she mentions that she needs to top her mobile up. It's all very well me having my mobile back but it's no good having Jack's number if I've got no credit to text him with.

When we pull up at a parade of shops Lucy decides that she needs to make an appointment to get her hair done. I can't remember the last time I went to a proper hairdresser. We get some frump who comes in to see to our needs every couple of months. The Others like to take advantage of the fact that she will attempt to give them practically any haircut they request, but I tend to stay clear as I can do a better job myself with a pair of nail scissors.

I look inside the hairdressers at the "normal" people and pity them because they actually think that they're doing something useful with their time. Jack's stood by my side looking at some girl in the window. Pretty, long flowing hair, great boobs and a tidy body. I can tell that he wants her but that he's trying to put any thoughts like that to the back of his mind.

Jack looks away when the girl in the window makes it obvious that she knows that he's checking her out. Except she's not inside the hairdressers; Jack's been looking at her reflection in the window. And I'm the only girl out in the street.

So what's the truth about me? Am I fat and in no way attractive? Am I deluded and see some girl who's "beyond belief" when I see my reflection in the window? You tell me. I can be whoever you want me to be. That's what I told Adam.

Poor old Adam who'd never broke the law previously. Well, apart from driving without a licence and insurance, working without a work permit and numerous counts of benefit fraud, but this country just sets itself up to be utilised in that way.

There's a reason why Lucy didn't think she knew him. He'd never been involved in a child sex gang before. In fact, he only every wanted to look after me until I made it impossible for him to not seduce me.

And it doesn't matter that I led him on, I was only 15 and he was old enough to be my granddad. Of course I'd never admit to Dan that I was the one who led Adam on. I'm going to use my vulnerable situation as all the evidence I need. I got what I wanted from Adam so I don't really care what happens to him now.

Lucy finally reappears from the hairdressers and I can go "home" and torment Kate for a bit. Poor old Kate who has to "cross" herself every time we're alone together. Kate who doesn't know how to get through to me and feels so helpless and like she's let me down. Stupid cow.

Chapter Twenty Six

Kate doesn't attempt to talk to me when she notices me strolling down the corridor. I've got my hand my pocket, holding the mobile, but she doesn't make any reference to the fact that I'm obviously hiding something. I go into my room and I'm expecting her to follow me. Instead, my door just quietly closes itself and beeps when it locks.

I can tell that they've been searching my room. Everything, including the clothes on the floor, is still in the same place but everything is a bit too tidy. I go into my draw where my money is and straightaway I know they've been looking at it because it's been put back upside down, again.

So they'll know that I've taken some of it. What I don't understand is why they never ask me about it. I mean it's not normal for a 15 year-old to acquire hundreds of pounds all of a sudden. But then that's the care system for you. They only properly notice things in hindsight. I put my mobile into the same draw as the money but I have to close it quickly when my bedroom door beeps open.

Kate walks in so I'm about to go over to my bed to get comfy but she's followed by another woman. No doubt Gillian's replacement who's going to shadow Kate for a couple of days to get "a feel for the role".

Having two middle women in your room just staring at you never stops being uncomfortable. I think the new one tries to introduce herself as "Sandra" but her accent is too thick. So that's going to be fun, if I do talk to this one she'll have to say everything twice because I won't understand her first attempt.

I'm being asked if I've had a nice day out, like I've been to the seaside with the "happy club", but I don't think Sandra quite gets the difference between someone being born with learning difficulties, which means that their brain doesn't function properly, and someone who was born "normal" but develops psychotic symptoms.

That's the thing with me. They can't prove that I've got any mental illness but then they can't disprove it either. If I start showing systems then they have to monitor me and see what develops. What they can't ever do is actually get inside my head and find out what I'm faking and what is beyond my control.

Control. That's what me being here is all about. I got transferred here because they wanted to keep me under "control". But they didn't. Since I've moved here I've had more freedom than I've ever had, when in reality it should be the opposite. Now they're too scared to talk to me properly and are constantly on edge that I'm going to top myself on their shift.

So did I ever seriously contemplate suicide when Adam and his "friends" disappeared? Well, I had a quick look at some hints and tips but the coward's way out isn't really for me. If I did feel that my life was in danger then I'd just lay low here for a bit. And to be honest, Adam and his "friends" might be a lot of things but there not that dumb to come and try to silence their little "chicken nugget". They're a bunch of taxi drivers, not the Mafia.

Sandra's sat down the edge of my bed for some reason. I look around my bedroom in case I can find a storybook for her to read to me but I don't think it's quite my bedtime just yet. Kate's happy just to stand and observe but I can tell that the awkward silence is getting to her. Sandra looks at her for inspiration but Kate's got nothing. That's the story of Kate's life. She's happy to put herself in challenging situations but when it comes down to it she's just not up to it.

Tired of having two morons stare at me I stand up and walk out of my bedroom. I know they're going to follow me so I think it's about time that Sandra got the piss taken out of her by The Others.

'Ooh, look who's got a new girlfriend,' The Alcoholic announces when Sandra follows me in.

Sandra makes the mistake of correctly introducing herself and even I have to laugh at that one. I mean, if they wanted to know her name and position here then they'd just look at the I.D. badge that she has to carry at all times. That's why Jack would be good at this job. He knows how to handle people.

Jack. Whose mobile number I have. Jack. Whose address I have. Jack. Whose trust I have. But I'm not going to treat Jack the way I treated Adam. For one, Jack wouldn't fall for it. And two, he could come in far more useful in the long term.

Adam was useful for lifts here and there and to experience certain things but I want more from Jack than that. He gets mentioned by one of The Others but I don't react to it. When they start suggesting that he's forgotten all about me, and that I'll never see him again, that's fine by me. I want Sandra to be listening to every word and to think that Jack's no longer going to be a part of my life. Because I can contact Jack myself now, he never needs to be mentioned in here again so Sandra never needs to know how important he is to me.

Sandra tries to "bond" with The Others by asking them what they're watching. She already know the answer, and they know that, so The Biter says:

'It's inter-racial disabled gay porn.'

Sandra doesn't have a clue of how to respond to that but she's at least clever enough to attempt to change the subject. Of course, there has been the odd Key Worker who would have tried to discipline The Biter for saying that but it's better to ignore it. However, the best thing to do would be to say something like Jack would. He'd say something like "whatever turns you on". Well, he probably wouldn't say that, but I know he'd have just merked The Biter and got the rest of The Others laughing at her so she wouldn't dare try saying something like that again.

Instead, The Others are laughing at Sandra. Asking her if she shaved her pussy this morning. If she's ever walked in on her son wanking himself off. Sandra doesn't exactly help herself by asking how they know she has a son and turns to look at me.

She really is clueless. I'm not going to let her know that she doesn't have to be in this room just because I am. There's two C.C.T.V. cameras watching our every move so she can go to the staff room and have the piss taken out of her by Kate and the Key Workers instead.

But no, she's staying for more torture. The Others are enjoying ripping into her and it really is something to watch. I'm not normally one who enjoys watching bullying but it was Sandra's choice to come here. And I'm not quite sure if she's going to be ready to deal with me. I've not decided how I'm going to torment her yet but when the time's right she'll get it. I want to go back to my room and text Jack, but I'll let Sandra get tormented just a little bit longer. It'll probably only be 10 minutes anyway before she makes some excuse that she's got to leave the room when she's really going to the toilets to cry her eyes out.

Chapter Twenty Seven

I notice that I've already got a text message waiting for me when I go back to my bedroom. At first, I think it's not from Jack because it's from an unrecognised number.

Thought I'd get a new number. Just in case. J x

That is clever of him because if they did start looking through my mobile then they'd know that I'd been contacting Jack in secret. But I still call the number instead of just replying to the text.

'Just checking it's you,' I say, when Jack answers.

'Everything okay when you got back?'

'Yeah, I can't speak now in case someone walks in. I'll text you.'

He sounds disappointed when I practically put the phone down on him but we need to take things slow. If I let him talk to me properly then he'll be driving back to pick me up to take me somewhere quiet to fuck me over every inch of his back seat. I don't think Jack got involved with me purely for the sex but it'll be a nice bonus for him. Of course, he'll have to wait until I'm 16. I like Jack. I'm not going to make things difficult for us. But he doesn't have long to wait.

I'm expecting Sandra to come and show her face. Kate's being conspicuous as well. After all, Sandra needs to learn how to cope with me as soon as possible. If anything goes wrong today then she's got Kate to run to for advice, but how is she going to cope when she's all alone? When she's supposed to be the one in charge of me. How's she going to cope when Dan and his subordinate are here?

No doubt, she'll be briefed about them two. Told who's side she's supposed to be on. It's hard to tell who's side Gillian and Kate are on with them. But that is sort of is understandable. They're worried that it was going to show up that they hadn't been doing their jobs properly. Sandra will be different though. She's only got her preconceptions to influence how she reacts to Dan and his subordinate claiming that an investigation shouldn't be taking place.

Now that I've met Lucy it seems to me that maybe an investigation shouldn't be taking place. Adam and his "friends" got to know some girls. They were taken in by the girls' seductions so introduced the girls to their friends. The problems only occurred when it turned out that these girls were underage. And, as in Lucy's case, when they didn't want to do certain things when the men were already horny. So the men had to get them paralytic with drink so that they could have their way with them.

Of course though, that's not the reason why Dan and his subordinate don't want this to go to court. That's because they don't want to intervene into the goings on of a certain community. Because if they investigate this then there's other things that they'll discover and then "human rights" start getting discussed and if that's the case then Adam may as well get left alone and have his benefits increased.

Jack texts me again. I hope he's not going to be like this all the time. He needs to learn that I'll speak to him when I want and that all he has to do is whatever I tell him. But some men take a little bit of training so I text him: _Hows Lucy? Shes lucky to have a friend like u x_

Perhaps I was a bit harsh on Lucy before. It's no wonder she's a bit of a psycho if she's been treated the way she has. I'm not normally one for helping people I've got no use for but maybe I'll make an exception with her.

Jack doesn't text me back straight away so it probably means that he's thinking carefully about his answer. Perhaps he's wondering about where my sudden concern for Lucy has come from or whether he should confirm once again that he and Lucy are just friends and that he only got turned on today when he looked at me.

Because I put him on the back foot with the text I sent him, Jack goes defensive with his replies. So defensive even that we end up just texting random small talk back and forth. But I've got to take things slowly with Jack. Prime him for the long term. I don't want him to think that his only purpose with me is to get Adam and his "friends" up before the courts and then we just go our separate ways.

There's a knock on my door just as I'm about to text Jack about some holiday destinations I'd like to visit so I hide my mobile. It's normally bad news if they don't just barge in. Almost as if they want to give me a couple of seconds to prepare myself.

I sit up on my bed and pick up the book I've been trying to read in between replying to Jack's texts. Instead of my door swinging open there's another knock on it. I shake my head in frustration and go and open it. I shouldn't really be having to get up so whoever's behind the door better have a good reason for putting me out like this.

Mrs Robinson stands behind the door looking all prim and proper. I get the impression that she's waiting for me to invite her into my room but she's going to have a long wait. Because of my insolence, she has to say whatever it she has to patronise me with on the landing.

She's come to gather information about where I've been today, but I think she misread too much into our discussions about Gillian. She's now got the impression that she can just ask me whatever she wants and I'll gladly tell her the answer. But I don't work like that. I wanted Gillian out of the way so that's why I opened up about her. I have no interest in telling her about today because I don't want her to find out about my private life.

Eventually she gets a bit of an understanding as to why so many people find dealing with me a challenge and she states that she'll be leaving me alone for the night. However, she does warn me that Dan and his subordinate will be in tomorrow and that they will have some questions to ask. I nod my head and close the door on her. I've got more important things to do, like turning things up a notch with my texts to Jack.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Sandra's in for a real treat because they've allowed her to observe today's session with Dan and his subordinate. Kate's also managed to drag herself in but she looks like she's on edge about something. I wonder what she could be on edge about? Oh wait, there was the incident were I spent most of the day out on my own only a day after her colleague had been suspended for neglecting me.

Dan's looking like he's managed to have a full night's sleep for once and his subordinate has even found time to have her hair done. When they've finally said enough small talk they move on to interrogating me. Cutting straight to the chase, Dan asks:

'Was your meeting yesterday with Jack Ford and Lucy Sullivan pre-planned?'

Mrs Robinson made it pretty obvious that I'd been seen out with Jack so I've had all night to think about my response. Initially, I thought that I'd just go along with the tried and tested tactic of not speaking but I've used that one enough. It's got it uses but it's very slow at getting results. So I've got to speak today. But only if I can lead the conversation.

'Why didn't you believe Lucy when she first made her allegation?'

'I've only been with this force for six months,' Dan says.

'And that makes it okay, does it?'

'Do you know why I've been put in charge of your case?'

To be honest Dan I've never really given it much thought. I've never had to waste my time thinking of you as a person and how your career might have developed during the time I've been dragged through the care system.

But then Dan says something that catches me by surprise:

'I was the one who re-opened Lucy Sullivan's case.'

'Why was it closed in the first place?'

Dan doesn't want to answer my question. He's looking at me differently today. Normally he looks down at me like I'm some stupid little kid who doesn't know what they are talking about but today it's like he wants to talk to me on a level.

So I'm not sure what to make of Dan today. I've just remembered the last time I saw him I was being dragged to my room because I'd just been sedated. That certainly had an effect on Kate and Dan's subordinate can hardly look at me today. Then it occurs to me, now that I've made contact with Lucy he knows that if I end up going to court and speaking out against Adam and his "friends" then what I say has got more substance, purely because it backs up what Lucy says.

I turn round to look at Sandra. She making notes in some writing pad but stops when she notices me gawking at her. She smiles at me when she looks up but I don't return the pleasantry. Instead I return my gaze back to Dan. I'm still waiting for him to answer my question about why Lucy's case was closed in the first place.

Instead, the old Dan returns and he sidesteps the question.

'Do you remember the first time you saw me?'

Straight away I know that's a trick question. He wants me to say that he would have been in this very room with Gillian by my side. But that would be too obvious. He's a copper. In charge of a case. A very sensitive case. A case that could have serious ramifications if it's not handled correctly.

'Shall I remind you?' he says, when I'm still deciding what answer to give. 'I was the one who arrested Lucy Sullivan when she breached the terms of her restraining order. Do you remember that day?'

'We talked about it yesterday.'

Dan nods his head and his subordinate opens some file. I'm expecting her to start reading something out but she keeps it to herself like she's trying to familiarise herself with what went on that day.

'What else got mentioned?'

'You'll have to be more specific.'

Dan wants to shout at me for being so insolent with him but he manages to control his temper.

'Who's choice was it to go to that particular part of town?'

'Jack just drove there.'

'Did he pass his details on to you?'

'No.'

'How did you manage to contact him then?'

'Found his details lying around.'

Dan shoots a look in Kate's direction and I swear she looks like she wishes she could hand in her resignation and go and do something more in line with her abilities, like stacking shelves in a supermarket. It really is laughable sometimes how inept some of the staff in this place can be. I look over again at Sandra and she's looking very attentive, almost as if she's determined not to make the same mistakes as Kate. But within a fortnight I'll turn her into a nervous wreck. Unless she gives me what I want.

And what do I want at the moment? I want it acknowledged that I was groomed for sex. I know that's not true, but I don't want people to know that I use and abuse men for my own pleasure and then ruin their lives when I'm done with them. How would I ever get my evil way with Jack?

I also want to be allowed out to see Jack, and Lucy, at least twice a week. Lucy's just the cover-up of course. To make it less obvious that I'm going to get Jack to totally change his life in order for him to look after me. I've had enough of living in the nut-house. It's about time I started looking at the option of supported accommodation. I can have my own version of a happy ending from a Roald Dhal novel.

But of course to get to that stage I'll have to make some sacrifices. I'll have to start joining in with group activities. I'll have to start being respectful to authority. I'll have to start eating normally. But it's all in the mind. You can train your mind so that you can achieve anything. You can make it look like you're slowly deteriorating mentally. You can also make it look like you're somehow recovering.

The trick is not to change too quickly. It's less than a week since I've been presented with my escape route out of here. But it's taken me over two years to get to this stage of my "phase". I can't suddenly become a fully functioning member of society by the end of the month.

Every time I was assessed by some doctor, or psychiatrist, I was convinced that I was going to get rumbled as a fake. That they would realise that I was putting it on because I didn't want to live in a normal children's home with so many rules and regulations, and staff who weren't afraid to use their dominant side. But there was always doubt in their minds. And I was able to seize upon that doubt.

You see, what happened when I was 8 made it impossible for me to live a normal life. Whilst the truth never came out, I could never return to normality. I had nowhere to go except to wait for Mum to be released. But seven years inside a prison is a long time for anyone to endure. And seven years of foster carers, children's homes, social workers and psychiatrists is just as hard to endure.

So I needed to make that time as easy as possible. I needed to keep away from everyday people because I had no one by my side to stick up for me and explain everything. When you're only 12 or 13 you're expected to have at least one parent in your life. But now I'm nearly 16 I'm more expected to have a boyfriend by my side. That's where Jack's going to come in. Even if for the time being he's only going to be a substitute boyfriend.

Chapter Twenty Nine

I think Dan is going to subject his subordinate to spending the whole day here. He disappeared for a short while before coming back with some sandwiches and I even surprised him by eating a bit of Sandra's when she offered it to me. I'd have eaten more but then it's been too well documented that I've had eating "issues" for the past few years. So I've got to deal with this process slowly, with baby steps and baby bites.

Dan's in his element when he tells me what he'd have done differently with Lucy's case if he'd have been in charge of the police operation from the beginning. Let's hope his foresight is as good as his hindsight because subtlety it's a guide for what I've got to do. Lucy refused any counselling. Refused to speak to people from charities who deal with young girls who have been sexually abused. Refused to accept any of the help that they tried to give her just so that it would look good at convincing a jury scared of breaking political correctness that she was telling the truth.

I understand fully where she's coming from with that, but I also understand where Dan's coming from. It's very easy to say something. Even to convince yourself that it actually happened. But it's hard to convince someone else. Perhaps someone who doesn't want to believe you. I'm not saying that a counsellor would have turned round and said that Lucy was lying but she is very erratic and does come across as an attention seeker.

I'm not really sure what to make of Dan today. It's almost as if he's recently been told from his superiors that someone has to be brought to justice for these allegations so somebody's got to be the fall guy.

And there's no better fall guy than Adam. Just an everyday sweet bloke who would go out of his way for anyone. But at the same time a naïve man who thought that he wouldn't be caught if he was involved with an underage girl. Back then I didn't think he would have been. I wasn't in any rush to go and tell anyone and if it wasn't for Jack then I'd never have spoke a word about it.

But maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe I'm not as clever as I've let myself think I am. I've let myself think that everything that happened with Adam and his "friends" was my choice and what I wanted. But was it really? What if I was that lonely, that secluded from society and feeling so worthless, that I was the easiest of easy prey? What if because I was wondering the streets with nowhere to go that I was too blind to see that I was being taken advantage of? It's always going to be open to interpretation. One person is going to think one thing; whilst the person sat next to them might have a totally different opinion.

However, it's hard to think about anything when I've got Dan's questions to answer. He's going back to questions he started asking me last Saturday when Gillian was here. The exact thing that I didn't want to happen. I hate it when I've got to repeat myself. But I want Dan to be honest with me. I just want him to say once and for all what he thinks should happen to Adam and his "friends".

Whether they should be put on trial and, if convicted, sentenced to many years in prison. Alternatively, whether any of the allegations made shouldn't be looked into because of the potential problems that they could cause. He doesn't want to answer me when I ask him that. He knows that I could potentially use it against him in the weeks and months to come.

Although someone else wants an answer. Sandra. She's been very quiet all day. Just watching. Observing. Perhaps I've underestimated her. Yesterday she was coming across as a bit of an airhead and a "yes" woman. But the way she just put her point across to Dan then certainly made him sit-up. And it made his subordinate take notice. She only takes notice of someone when she thinks that they're going to make things difficult for her.

When Gillian was by my side, they had a compatriot if they wanted to go down the route of not looking into the allegations any further. But Sandra's new to the job here. She's got nothing to lose by supporting me. It's not her reputation on the line. Although she's coming out with too many dodgy clichés for my liking, she's saying that it's Dan's duty to make sure that justice is done for me regardless of who the allegations are against.

Sandra's actually proper going for it and Dan's been reduced to just shaking his head in denial on how he, and the police as a whole, are to blame for all the horrible things which I've been put through. His subordinate glares at me, as if to challenge me not to get too confident, but I give her a sly little wink. Anyway, I'm not going to waste my time on concentrating on her mind games, I'm far too interested in what Sandra has to say.

She's asking, well no, she's actually demanding to know, what's being done to catch Adam and his "friends". Whether they're still free to cruise the streets looking for fresh victims in a new part of town, or whether they've been allowed to flee the country because they know the potential consequences if they are charged with engaging in child prostitution.

Dan just gives his standard non-committal answers but it's not good enough for Sandra. She's demanding to know more. She wants to know what evidence the police have and what they're doing with that evidence. She wants to know how many other girls in the local area are suspected of being victims and whether they are willing to give evidence against their rapists, or if not, what steps are being taken to make sure that they do testify.

Sandra finally stops for breath. Dan's subordinate jumps in to question Sandra's integrity and asks her what qualifications she feels she has to talk so eloquently on the matter. But Sandra doesn't buckle under the attempted pressure. She turns the questions back round on the subordinate.

The subordinate suggests that we've discussed enough things today and then tries to suggest that I must be getting tired, but I tell her that I'm happy to stay and discuss things. Sandra again asks Dan how he's going to make sure that "justice" is done. His subordinate shakes her head defiantly but Dan finally cracks and says:

'We have five suspects on file from the Lucy Sullivan case. I'll arrange for them to be brought in for questioning today.'

'That's a start. What about the numerous others?'

'We have suspects we'd like to interview but we need more evidence. When the Megabites takeaway was raided, C.C.T.V. recordings from the previous three weeks were taken away to help gather evidence. A team has been working non-stop to identify potential suspects. That process is nearing its end so we'll be adding the results to other intelligence that is currently being gathered to bring in those suspects.'

'And what else will you be doing?'

Sandra sounds so demanding when she speaks today. A total world away from the ditzy old woman who tried to talk to me yesterday. Dan's actually buckling under the pressure from her and if anything he looks like he's the one who is on trial and lying through his back teeth.

Dan starts to stammer when he speaks, 'Four more officers have been added to my team.' I've never seen anyone in authority crack like this. He sounds like a little boy who's being told off in primary school. 'They've been briefed that we're expecting prosecutions from this case within 12 months.'

I stare into Dan's eyes but he can't hold my gaze. I look at his subordinate. Part of me wants to hit her. But then she's a copper. The one with the rights. Above the law. And I'm not that daft that I'm going to end up with a criminal record because of someone as pathetically flat-chested as her. I rearrange my boobs inside my bra and she looks at me before looking down at herself, at her total inadequacy.

'I think we'll leave it at that today, don't you?' Sandra says. Dan nods at her and his subordinate pretends to re-arrange some papers so that she doesn't have to look at me and Sandra as we leave the Interrogation Zone.

For some reason I'm buzzing. I don't know what it is about Sandra but I've got a feeling and she could come in very useful. I can't wait to tell Jack the good news.

Chapter Thirty

Jack phoned me instead of replying to my lengthy message about how Sandra had Dan squirming and promising to get Adam and his "friends" thrown in jail. In fact, I've never heard Jack sound so enthusiastic about anything. It's almost like he's pleased with himself that all his hard work has paid off.

I suppose Jack has played a key part in this. If he hadn't arrived in my life then I'd probably still be prating about with my selective mutism disorder. And if he didn't know Lucy then I'd never have met her. Because our stories match, the police have to take us seriously. Despite our age. Despite our "difficult backgrounds". Despite our colour.

As Jack starts to speculate on potential prison sentences that Adam and his "friends" are likely to receive, I tell him not to get too carried away. After all, no arrests have been made. I'm still going to have to identify which ones actually raped me and I've got to put together my series of events so that it will stand up in court and get the convictions that are deserved.

Even though I am feeling pleased with myself, I've learnt in the past not to get too carried away with things and expect too much too soon. The only thing that happens then is that my mind gets over excited and my imagination runs wild, but then the reality is just a let down that leaves me feeling like a total idiot.

Jack tentatively asks me when I want to see him again. I want to say "anytime" but I've got a feeling that Dan and his subordinate will be wanting me to give a lot of evidence over the next couple of days. But then Jack asks me a very realistic question:

'Why does Dan have that woman on the case with him?'

That's a very good question indeed. At first I thought they were a duo. They both wanted the same thing. Me to keep quiet so Adam and his "friends" could be left alone. But Dan's not feeling that way any more. I'm not sure how senior he is within the police. Whether he gets the choice of who works on a case with him, but I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't have his subordinate by his side if he a choice. And why would he, she's got shit tits and curly hair.

Jack laughs when I tell him that and tells me to be stop being so cruel.

'What?' I say. 'Don't tell me you've not noticed yourself.'

'What's this Sandra like?'

'Saggy tits and funny coloured hair that no doubt covers up her grey bits.'

'No, stupid. As a person.'

I want to say brilliant but I stop myself. I don't know Sandra properly yet. Whilst she's just played a blinder with Dan and his subordinate I still don't know enough about her. And Kate's still on the scene. She's technically still my senior Key Worker. This means that she's still the one who decides how I'm supposed to spend my days. Dan wants to arrange for a specialist rape counsellor to come and see me this week. Sandra thought that it would be a good idea, well would look good for my case, but I'm sure that Kate could veto it if she wanted.

That's if I see her again after her shift ends today. She's been looking like she's had enough for the past couple of weeks, even before Dan and his subordinate decided to turn my life upside down. So it wouldn't surprise me if she phoned up in a couple of days with a sick note from her doctor advising her to take some time off with "stress".

That's what happened with some Key Worker called Carole about a year ago. 18 years' experience she was proud to tell me she had. Claiming how she'd worked her way up. Six shifts of attempting to deal with me and I never heard from her again. I think she was the first person who's ever had to deal with me who would have gladly killed me given a chance. I didn't really have to do anything to her but she was just so far up her own arse she couldn't see what a pathetic excuse for a human being she was.

Anyway, I don't like thinking about Carole. I'll never have to see her again. Well, not unless I mess my life up that much that I have to work in a care home, or some menial soul destroying job like that, to look after her whilst she sees her days out.

I ask Jack about what he's doing about a job. He doesn't want to commit to anything but I can tell that he's sounding like he's getting to the point where he's going to have to take just anything. But it shouldn't have to be like that. Jack got so many skills it's unbelievable. It's just that he's not an arse licker and isn't prepared to tolerate people who are happy to plod along because it's what is expected of you.

I really feel like Jack's starting to open up to me about what he wants from life but I have to cut him short when there's a knock on my door. I make myself comfortable on my bed because even if it is Mrs Robinson I'm not going to get up to answer the door. She's got to learn the hard way that I don't put myself out for anyone like her.

There's a sharper knock on my door but I still don't move. I think that Mrs Robinson has given up before my door unlocks and a tentative voice asks:

'Hello? Is there anybody in here?'

I've got no idea what kind of life Mrs Robinson has had to endure before she crawled her way into this job, but she really hasn't got a clue of how to behave in a specialized care home for teenage girls with moderate to severe mental problems who've never committed, or in my case my been suspected and convicted of, a crime punishable by prison.

She closes the door behind her and smiles at me as if she's expecting some kind of recognition and thanks for the fabric softener that I requested that has been used on the clothes that I'm wearing today. I don't really know what she wants from me and she's not exactly in any rush to get to the point. I roll my eyes at her when she mentions some progress that may have taken place and this puts her on the back foot.

I pull my pillow out from behind my back and fluff it up to make myself more comfortable. Mrs Robinson takes this as a sign that I'm tired, after my long day, and I yawn subconsciously. She looks as if she's putting me out and looks over her shoulder like she's checking to see if there's some panic button she can smash to call for help in case I suddenly drop dead.

With my eyes closed my ears take over as my main sensory function and I hear my door slowly close to. I've got to open my eyes again though when my mobile vibrates.

Chapter Thirty One

'Where did you get the mobile from?' Sandra asks, as she wonders in unannounced. I deny that I've got a mobile, but she pulls out some kind of devise that's beeping and tells me the make and model of my mobile, not hiding that fact that she finds it hideously out of date.

'You're not going to take it off me, are you?' I ask, trying to slide my mobile from underneath my quilt and down the side of my bed.

'Not for now. I'll just wait until you've left your bed and take it from where you've just hidden it.'

'They bought it for me. They thought that it would be easier for me to communicate.'

'Look, I'm not bothered about you having a mobile, if anything it might make you more normal. It's just that we need to know who you're contacting and that you're not putting yourself in any danger.'

'I just had to warn Adam that the police might be coming for him soon.'

Sandra laughs at me. This catches me off guard slightly because I was expecting her to take me seriously or give me some warning about how stupid and dangerous that would be. I know she went up in my estimation today with how she handled Dan and also put his subordinate well and truly in her place, but that still doesn't give her to right to sit down on the edge of my bed like we're about to have a little girlie chat.

'Well at least you're not touching yourself,' Sandra says with a totally straight face.

'I didn't know she'd told anyone about that.'

'Oh yeah, loads of people warned me about it. It's sort of a running joke that everyone has behind your back.'

I bolt upright and head towards my en-suite bathroom before Sandra pulls me back and tells me to chill my axe. Sandra's grip is firm and her hand is so cold on my bare arm that I feel like fainting. She indicates for me to sit down and says that she wants to talk to me properly. I hate this bit. The bit where I get the big speech about how they want to help me and how they're going to be the one to turn my life around. This is the bit where I normally switch off. Where people's voices start to grate on me. But I've got a feeling that Sandra's going to be different.

She's definitely on my side. Well, if not me as an individual then the type of person I've unfortunately become. She's on the same side as Jack. She wants the same outcome as him. To make sure that a certain group of men are removed from the street so that they can't continue with their feast of "Cheap White Meat".

'Kate didn't tell me. Well, not directly. She did drop a few hints and I've read extensively over the past couple of days a lot of the notes on file about you. Especially what Kate and that Gillian have been writing about you. One of the things that I picked up on was the way that you'd behave different towards them and that your behaviour would change from day to day depending who was on shift. So I dug a little bit deeper. Looked at how previous Key Workers had written about how they'd dealt with you. And of course a pattern emerged. Each Key Worker had their own way of dealing with you, but you had a different way of dealing with them. Depending on what they were like as a person.'

I feel like I've been rumbled and that I'm in so much trouble. I've sort of got used to not speaking or the past year or so but right now I feel like I've been stunned into silence.

'You shouldn't really be in a place like this, should you?'

I nod my head. Not because I agree that I shouldn't be here but because I'm saying that I should. Sandra is perhaps the scariest person I've ever had to deal with. But she's so calm and in control all the time. I have to strain to hear her properly, but I'm hanging on to every word she saying.

'There's nothing wrong with you mentally. You're just a 15 year-old who's had a tough time. Didn't know how to cope. Perhaps didn't want to cope.'

'I'm sorry,' I whisper. I really think like I'm in so much trouble. I've never felt like this. Never. Not even when Mum asked me if I pushed Lottie into the water.

Lottie.

The jealous little bitch that ruined my life. She was the daughter of Mum's boyfriend. Mum had taken us down to the river one Sunday to play. Lottie was a proper little daddy's girl and always trying to wind me up. I tried not to let her get to me but when she told some tale about how Mum was going to leave me to live with her, and her dad, I didn't like it.

We'd been walking on some rocks but the tide must have been coming in, or something, because all of a sudden we were what looked like miles away from the riverbank. Mum was out of sight around the corner so she didn't see me push Lottie.

I didn't push her hard. But the rocks were now wet and she slipped. If I'd have shouted for help I think that Mum could have saved Lottie.

But I didn't.

I had a chance to make sure that Mum never saw Lottie again. She already had a daughter; why would she want a replacement?

Lottie tried to struggle to stay afloat but the river was too fast. We were only 8 so neither of us could swim. As I stood and watched Lottie's head get sucked under the water, I started to panic when the water started to get into my shoes.

That's when I screamed. And Mum came straight away.

Within seconds she'd dragged me to the riverbank. Her motherly instinct defying the danger to save the love of her life. As an afterthought, she remembered Lottie. Dumbstruck, I pointed to the river but by now Lottie was out of sight.

Mum attempted to try to find her but soon had to give up when the river was getting up to her thighs. What happened next is all a bit of a blare. I know that the emergency services turned up. All four of them. Even a passing AA breakdown van stopped to have a gawk and film events on his mobile.

Apparently, I suffered from shock so I don't remember much about the next week or so. But by the time I was returning back to normal I had to move away for my own safety, first with Mum and then alone when she lost her trial.

Mum only asked me once if I hurt Lottie on purpose. When I said that she slipped, I knew that she believed me. Even though I was under the age of criminal responsibility, Mum still didn't want me to drag me into things any further than the ineptitude of the police and the callousness of the media had already allowed.

Whilst the immediate after mouth of the events is a blur at best after the first people arrived on the scene, I certainly remember the chaos that exploded when Mum was first arrested and charged with murder. That afternoon I was introduced to the "social worker" and taken on my "adventure". I also remember a couple of days later having to be sneaked out of school with a towel over my head because a crowd had gathered at the school gates. Grown adults who'd never heard of me the week previously, who didn't know me or anyone else involved, threating revenge or baying for justice. Absolute fucking twats, the lot of them.

I've since researched Lottie's death on the internet. It was front page news on a regular basis for around nine months until Mum was convicted of manslaughter due to the neglect of a child in her care. What got me most about the media reaction was the change in perspective.

Firstly, it was treated as a tragic accident. Then Lottie's Dad gave an interview blaming Mum. Without that interview she'd never have had to go through what she did, but judging by the newspaper reports she was found guilty before she'd even had a chance to put her side of the story to the police.

Initially, I only had to give one interview to the police. Until the court date got closer and I had to give my side of the story to numerous people. I'd turned 9 by then but I still didn't understand fully what was going on. But I'd learnt to hate anyone who claimed that they were doing "what was best for me".

I can't really remember much about the time when Mum was waiting for her trial to come up. But I do remember that she didn't treat me any differently. Didn't make me feel like it was my fault. Even though we were living around 50 miles from home for our own safety and was she was severely restricted with the amount of contact she could have with her friends.

I still don't know what was gained by having Mum sentenced to seven years in prison, virtually labelled a child murderer. But I know that she took the blame to try to protect me. I used to beat myself up by allowing myself to think about what my life would have been like if Mum had been acquitted. But I had to stop because I was fast getting lost in the care system.

The hardest thing I've ever had to do was visit Mum in prison and pretend that I couldn't tell that she was wearing a load of make-up because she'd been beaten up. There wasn't one of us who decided to break off communication. It just naturally came to a stop. I suppose the longer she had to stay incarcerated the more she started to resent me. After all, prison is supposed to be a punishment.

However, I don't know if Mum does resent me. I don't think she could cope with hearing stories of how I'd been sent to another foster home. Had to leave another school. Been put under observation by another psychiatrist.

Maybe things would have been different if it had been made public that I was the one responsible for Lottie's death. After all, I was the one who pushed her. I made no attempt to get her out of the water. I didn't even call for help until I got scared that I might be in danger myself.

People have tried asking me about what happened with Lottie. But they've always stuck by the official version of events that are on police record. They've never tried to get me to explore the possibility that foul play took place.

I think my life definitely would have been different if it had have been made public that I was responsible for Lottie's death. Because it was first presented as a tragic accident, my name and picture had already been published in the media. I know I wouldn't have been charged with a crime because of my age, but maybe Mum would have been given a much lesser sentence and we could have both been given a new identity and started a new life somewhere.

That's what they've done for other child murderers who committed much worse crimes than I have. That's the version of events that I used to beat myself up about. That I could have been known in the media as Jennifer Mary Costello – child murderer, but been allowed to choose my new name and start a new life.

Instead, I'm just Jennifer Mary Costello – incarcerated nutcase, former child prostitute and a total blight on society.

Chapter Thirty Two

I haven't told Sandra anything about what happened with Lottie. She's patiently waiting for me to regain my composure and tells me to take my time, but I automatically do the opposite and this sets me back about ten minutes.

I'm never normally like this. I actually feel like I'm going to crack and everything is going to fall apart. I'll be sectioned for my own safety. Not allowed out on my own. Not allowed to see Jack. Not allowed to find out if Mum's been given parole and is allowed to start rebuilding what's left of her life.

'A lot of people underestimate you, don't they?'

I don't understand what Sandra's saying but she continues:

'They assume that you don't know much because you haven't been to school a lot. But you're actually very clever. You're very good at reading people and manipulating them to your own advantage.'

I take offence to the word "manipulate" but Sandra stands by it.

'What you've done is wrong. You've caused a lot of stress for people and probably made some of them very ill. But then rather than think about punishing you; people should look at why you've had to behave like that.'

"You've had to," Sandra said. As if it's the only option I've had. Not some sadistic choice a lot of people like to assume it is. She's still looking at me with that steady gaze of hers. Not giving anything away. Not letting me know whether she's actually on my side or if she's getting some kind of kick out of this and wants to extract a confession out of me that will ruin the rest of my life.

So I stick to the plan that got me in the position I'm in today. I say nothing. That way Sandra can only assume that what's she's saying is right and that she's got the magic answer to sort my life out.

'I used to be a foster carer myself. I started with all the right intentions but kept getting it wrong. I let myself think that some of the children I looked after didn't want my help. But the truth is that I didn't know how to help them properly. I was looking after them how I'd been told to. Been trained to. How the books said. But books don't take into account that every child you look after is an individual. Every child has been through something different.'

I look up at Sandra and notice that she's not actually looking at me but staring blankly at the wall. It's like I'm a psychiatrist and she's my patient, only able to talk to me without making any eye contact.

'Some are only going to be in care for a couple of days. Some are going to be in care for the rest of their childhood. But of course, when a child is first presented to you then you've got no idea how long they're going to be staying. It's a hard job. You can go in there with the best of intentions but unless you get that first impression 100% right then you're going to make it almost impossible for yourself.'

I remember those first impressions. Normally it would be the eager middle-aged woman looking so pleased to see me while her husband kept a low profile in the background. Everything was for show. Nothing real. With the foster parents caring more about how they were coming across to Social Services rather than me.

I was glad when I grew taller than most women so that they didn't crouch down, like that Jo Frost Supernanny woman does, to try and talk to me on "my level". That might work on a four year-old but it certainly doesn't work on ten year-old with no soul. Of course when Social Services had finished their cup of tea and left me alone with my new "family" then their real personality would come out.

Some were the older couples whose children had left home and they felt like they didn't have that purpose in life which can only be gained from taking their kids to school every day. Others were perennial losers who were looking for an easy way to make some money and resented having to spend a single penny on me.

I'm not really sure which type Sandra is. At first I'd have definitely said that she had more things empty than just her nest. But if that was all she was looking for then she'd just have to sit tight and the right child would eventually come along.

I feel like I'm constantly fighting a battle with myself when it comes to how I feel towards Sandra. Part of me is desperate to throw my arms around her and beg her to make everything okay in my life, but I still don't know if I can trust her. I've only known her a couple of days and I don't know her real reason for wanting to work with me. If I'm just the child that she's been allocated then she's going to get nowhere with me. I'm more complex than that. I need someone who actually wants to help me. Me, the person who they've let me become over the years.

Someone like Jack. Someone who knew what Adam and his "friends" were getting up to but also knew that there was no point going on some "far-right" protest and getting a reputation as a "little racist thug". Because Jack made such an effort to seek me out and get to know me then he got the results he wanted.

That's the way Sandra's got to play it. She's got to tell me about what's so special about me that she wants to devote her time into turning my life around. When she can't answer my question I ask her:

'Is this just a job to you?'

'Of course not. Believe me, if it was just a job then I'd have given up many moons ago and found something far easier.'

I like that answer but I can't help but tell her to go easy on the clichés. Sandra seems scared that she's about to undue all her good work from today if she says the wrong thing. But it's been a long day. For both of us. And judging from today's events there's going to be plenty more to come. I give Sandra a potential escape route and say that I need some sleep. Reluctantly, she stands up from my bed and says that it's probably best that I do get some rest.

Sandra looks like she doesn't know what to do as she fiddles around with her I.D. pass. She says that she'll see me tomorrow and that she's enjoyed working with me so far. I think I surprise her when I stand up, hug her and say:

'Thanks.'

Chapter Thirty Three

I finally get the chance to read Jack's text from before. I've no idea how long Sandra was in my room for but Jack hasn't got impatient and texted me again. _Text me when it's good_ _to talk. x_

For some reason Jack uses the correct punctuation in his texts. I think it's because he's showing off because he knows the correct way to use an apostrophe, but I haven't got a clue. I've had better things to teach myself down the years. I think about texting him back but I'm also pretty tired so I don't really want to get stuck in some all-night texting session. Plus, I'm probably going to need some more credit soon.

Now that Sandra knows that I've got a mobile again I can use it as an excuse to go out to the shop. I'm pretty sure though that they'll want to search through my it so I delete all the evidence. I still wouldn't put it past Dan's subordinate to try and put some child grooming charge on Jack. She really is that vindictive. I looked it up the other day and found out that vindictive means someone who is malicious and seeking revenge. See, if I say that I'm going to do something then I do it.

That reminds me, I still owe Jack two merks. He might have forgotten about the way he belittled me when he first met me, but I haven't. I think I'll get him back in front of Lucy. Makes some suggestion over the size of his cock and that he doesn't know what to do with it. He won't like that: being laughed at by two girls. Plus, it will also make him feel like he's got something to prove to me.

I want to go to sleep but I'm feeling hungry at the same time. However, the thought of eating some pasta from a paper bowl with a plastic spoon makes the hunger pangs seem like the better option. I definitely need to move out of here sometime soon. Get some normality back in my life. There's no way I'm spending the rest of my life using paper plates and plastic cutlery because the people who I have to live with are a potential danger to themselves and the staff who attempt to look after them.

But everything like that seems a long way off. It seems that I have other priorities to deal with first. Dan wants something now so he's not going to let me have any peace until he's extracted every single scrap of evidence from me. And if he's successful and gets nine custodial sentences for Adam and his "friends" then no doubt he'll get a promotion. That's how the police operate.

Sandra's performance with Dan and his subordinate keeps playing on a loop inside my head. If I'd have met someone like Sandra years ago then I'd never have ended up in the situation I'm in now. I'm not saying that there wouldn't be any child grooming case to be investigated because that's an entirely separate matter. No doubt it's been going on for years and will continue to do so until the police and Social Services finally stop baying down to political correctness and do something about it.

If I'd have been fostered by someone like Sandra then I wouldn't have felt the need to sit in a sleazy takeaway all day. I wouldn't have been a sitting target for Adam and his "friends". Or even if I had have been a target then at least I'd have had someone to confide in with Sandra. Someone who would believe what I was telling then and would want to do something about it. But no, I've been left with the type of people who always put themselves first and think how something is going to affect them; rather than the effect that it's having on me.

It's quite normal for me to spend the time before I fall asleep going through all the things that I'm resentful for in my life. I also make plans that I can try to make things better for me in the future. But then sometimes the things that are most useful to me just appear out of nowhere.

I had no idea that Jack would one day just appear out of nowhere. And I've been presented with enough useless Key Workers to form my own rugby union team. So that probably goes some way to explaining as to why I tend to dismiss people in the blink of an eye without really giving them a chance. Although ninety nine times out of a hundred my first impression is normally right.

Chapter Thirty Four

Sandra wakes me up by letting herself into my room. Initially I don't know what time it is; whether I've only been asleep for a couple of minutes or if it's now morning. But when I'm able to focus properly on Sandra I can tell that she's wearing different clothes so, unless one of The Others has chucked their tea all over her, it must indeed be Friday morning.

I get asked what I want for breakfast and make Sandra laugh when I say, 'A proper plate and proper cutlery.' She doesn't attempt to make some lame joke about how that wouldn't be very healthy and tells me that she'll see what she can do.

By the time I've come out of the shower there's a bowl of cornflakes waiting for me in a cheap looking ceramic bowl and a metal spoon with a hideous green handle. It seems that the carers aren't exactly blessed when it comes to be catered for either.

'Most of the staff bring their own stuff from home. It was either this or one of Tracey's plates and I didn't think you'd appreciate that.'

"Tracey" is Sargent-Do-As-I-Say, by the way. And I'd rather starve than eat food that could be in any way contaminated by her.

'I need some credit for my mobile,' I say, in between mouthfuls.

'Do you want me to pick you some up?'

I shake my head but Sandra says that Dan and his subordinate will be here soon. This really is ridiculous. I feel like I'm under house arrest. I'm not even allowed to go to the local shop for half an hour. It feels like I've not thrown a petulant little strop for ages so I decide to make the most of it. Eventually Sandra relents and says that she'll phone Dan to let him know that it's better if I get some more rest this morning. I don't say "thank you" but I nod my head at Sandra to let her know that she's made the right decision.

It's raining outside. I wasn't expecting that. But I've still got to go outside otherwise they'll use the weather as an excuse to try and control me in the future. I keep looking over my shoulder, like I'm expecting to be followed, but everything is quiet. Too quiet.

By the time I've made it to the supermarket I've found out where everyone is; the queue for the kiosk is almost a mile long. Something about there being a special lottery draw on tonight. I consider buying a ticket myself but then I remember my situation. And, probably more significantly, the fact that I'm still 15.

I keep hearing in my head what Dan said yesterday about some arrests being made in my case. Now that I'm out and about I can't help but carry on walking and taking a look down at Adam's community. Thankfully, the rain has stopped but by the time I get there everything is quiet once again. The streets are virtually empty and most of the shops look shut.

For some reason I feel guilty. Like I'm the one who's to blame for having nine lives ruined and a whole communities reputation damaged. Is that true? Is it my fault? Maybe I'm such bad news that I ruin every life I come into contact with.

I certainly ruined Lottie's life. Mum's going to be nearly 40 by the time she gets out of prison. I've no idea what happened to any of my former foster carers or Key Workers, but what if I was the trigger incident that pushed them over the edge and caused them to have a breakdown which they never recovered from?

And then there's Jack. Maybe I should just text him and thank him for all his help but say that I think it's best that I don't see him any more. I can't run the risk of ruining his life as well. He's got far too much going for him.

Even though I had some breakfast I still feel like I've not eaten properly. Thinking about hunger makes it worse as well so I start to look around for some place that looks like it might be open. As I start to cross the road, I feel a hand pulling me back and a voice telling me:

'You shouldn't be round here.'

Chapter Thirty Five

Dan doesn't say a word to me once he's bundled me into the back of his car. He sits in the back next to me whilst his subordinate is on driving duties. I think about making some comment about if he's going to get me banned from that area, just like Lucy, but Dan doesn't look in the mood. He looks like he's been up all night and the last thing he needs is to be patronised by some stupid little kid who seems determined to ruin her life one way or another.

Sandra's stood at the gates by the time we make it back. She doesn't say much to me as well and just tells me to go and wait in the Interrogation Zone. I consider texting Jack whilst I'm waiting for the rest of them to join me, but I figure that if I get caught on my mobile by Dan then he'll want to know exactly what I've been texting Jack and also who else I've been in contact with.

None of then speak to me when they enter the room. Dan's giving in to his drug addiction and is swigging from a cup of coffee whilst his subordinate and Sandra have got masses of paperwork with them. Everything points to the fact that I'm going to be stuck in here all day.

'Do you enjoy putting yourself in danger,' Dan finally says.

I don't understand what he means. All I did was go for a walk down a street in broad daylight. But Dan doesn't look like he's in the mood to be playing games today. He looks totally focused on getting as much information as possible and being able to move to the next stage of his investigation.

I look at Sandra. After our conversation yesterday I expected her to be far more informal with me, but she looks the most professional I've seen her in the few days that I've been lucky enough to know her.

Surprisingly though, it's Dan's subordinate who breaks the silence. She has ten pictures of men in her hand which she lays out on the table in front of me.

'Do you recognise any of these men?'

Initially, I think that all the images are stills from C.C.T.V. images until Adam's face lurches out at me and makes my stomach jump. His photo is a police mug shot with yesterday's date on it.

They've arrested Adam. My sweet innocent Adam who looked out for me. Who'd go out of his way to give me a lift home. Who's got a wife and a young family to support. He's probably in custody right now wondering what's going to happen to him.

'Well?'

Dan sounds impatient. I nod my head, but when I try to speak no words come out. He asks me how many of the men I recognise but I've not looked at all the pictures properly. The sight of Adam's vacant, worried, eyes have distracted me.

He had the same look on his face the first time he slept with me. Sorry, I mean "raped" me. Like he was scared for the future. Thought that his whole life was about to change. But Sandra prompts me about the other pictures so I've got to look at them.

Straight away I recognise most of the staff from Megabites. But I never did anything with them. Then it becomes clear at what I'm looking at here. There's the two brothers who owned Megabites. Adam and another driver who just used to ignore me. And six other staff members. Off the top of my head that's pretty much everyone who worked there during the few months or so I used to hang out there.

'Have all these men been arrested?' I ask, to Dan's subordinate, to test whose side she's on today. But Dan speaks on her behalf.

'They've been asked to help us with our investigation. So do you recognise any of them?'

I nod my head.

'How many?'

'All of them.'

I look at Sandra to try and judge how she's feeling but she's not giving anything away.

'How do you know them?' Dan asks.

'They all used to work at Megabites.'

'Did you ever see any of them elsewhere?'

I nod my head.

'Which man?'

I point to Adam. Point my accusatory finger that has just changed Adam's life forever. Dan puts Adam's picture to one side and his subordinate puts the rest into an envelope.

All of a sudden I feel ill. Like I either need some fresh air or something to eat. I want to say something but I don't want to it sound like I'm making excuses and trying to get out of something. Dan virtually said yesterday that I've got to do everything he says otherwise the courts won't believe me, like they wouldn't have believed Lucy.

When Dan speaks again I struggle to hear him. The Interrogation Zone doesn't have any natural light and the strip lighting is burning through my eyelids, into my pupils. I feel an arm on my shoulder but I can't understand what the voice is saying to me. I think I try to stand up but I'm not quite sure. Everything seems distant and far away. I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have spoke out. I should have stayed silent. It's all Jack's fault. He's ruined everything. I've lost all control of what's going on in my life now. I don't even know whether I'm awake or whether I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming because I feel like I'm floating but I can't make myself wake up.

Chapter Thirty Six

I've no idea how I've ended up in bed fully clothed. Everything feels weird. My head hurts and my eyes ache as I try to make sense of what's going on. When Dr Protection walks into my room, followed by Sandra, I definitely think I'm hallucinating.

'What have you had to eat today?' he asks me.

I look at Sandra. She tells him about the cereal and asks me if I've had anything else. I shake my head and some nurse who I didn't notice at first says she'll make sure that's put right.

What's happening to me? My legs feel weird and Dr Protection has his hand on my wrist as he checks my pulse. He puts his hand on my forehead and then takes my temperature.

'Do you have a history of fainting?'

I shake my head. I think the only time I've ever fainted before was when I wanted to get out of P.E. in school. I wasn't feeling particularly unwell, but worrying about P.E. all day convinced my body I actually was ill and on the way to the cloakroom to get my P.E. kit I keeled over.

But maybe subconsciously I wanted to faint today because I didn't want to be presented with any more photographs. I didn't want to get any more reminders of what I've done in the past. I'm not the type of person who goes out seeking justice. I'd just rather forget things and be allowed to move on.

The nurse comes back into the room and she starts to set-up some kind of drip. I immediately start to panic and look to Sandra for some comfort. She tells me that everything's going to be okay and Dr Protection tells me that the drip will only be for a short while to get some much needed energy into my body.

I hate needles at the best of times but because I'm feeling the way I am then I feel like the needle is going to go through my hand when Dr Protection inserts it into me. He tells me I've to stay in bed for the rest of the day, to keep on eating, and not to doing anything too stressful.

Sandra says that she'll make sure I follow doctor's orders but doesn't mention anything about the thing that has made me stress out in the first place. Dr Protection and the nurse go, saying that they'll be back in a bit to take the drip out and I'm left all alone with Sandra.

'We're really asking a lot from you, aren't we?'

I don't reply. Not because I'm being ignorant, but because I really am too tired to speak. This week has all been so hectic and it's all finally caught up with me. Firstly, I was introduced to Dan and his subordinate who made me feel like the dirtiest little scrubber in town. Then Jack arrived and made me feel like I was actually worth caring about. So I then had to stand up for myself and get Gillian out of my life. But that still left all the issues with Kate. Then there was Dr Protection's little entrance which made me fear for my health. And I've still not heard anything back about the results from that yet.

I think the incident where I was sedated until I woke up at four o'clock in the morning came next; which lead to me finding Jack's details and going off on an adventure with him and Lucy. In between this I've have to deal with Mrs Robinson making me get up and open my bedroom door to answer her pointless questions. Plus, I've had to put up with being patronised by Dan's subordinate whilst trying to work out what it is that she wants to happen from my whole situation.

So to answer your question Sandra, then yes; you really are asking a lot from me. I'm 15 years-old. I shouldn't have this going on in my life. I should be hanging around on street corners and lusting after boys who are way out of my league. Boys like Jack. Boys who are actually men who don't show any interest in naive little girls like me.

I shouldn't have been involved with men who purposely seek out and take advantage of naive little girls because they know that they're an easy target. I can understand now why the police didn't want to take Lucy's allegations seriously in the first place. How on earth are they going to get enough evidence together to convict Adam and his "friends"?

It's essentially their word against mine. And I don't know if I've got the strength to go through it all in minute detail. Remember all the dates. The faces. What actually happened in a step-by-step basis. Me pointing to a picture and wailing "he's the naughty man who touched me" isn't going to stand-up in court.

The court's going to want to know where he touched me. How many times he touched me. Whether he forced himself on me. Whether he gave me drugs and alcohol. And the court's going to want to know this for every single one of them.

But I can't remember most of the details. The important details anyway. I was so shy that I just used to lie there and try to make as little eye contact as possible. It wasn't like I got to know most of them before they satisfied their needs inside me.

Sandra puts her arms around me and starts stroking the top of my head. It actually does feel comforting and I can't remember the last time I felt like this. Felt so safe. Felt so secure. But I'm not safe. And I'm definitely not secure. Not with my mind the way it is.

I actually thought I was making some progress, until today. Thought that I was getting somewhere. And that one day I'd be well enough to leave care and start living my own life. But maybe I am ill. Maybe I do need 24 hour supervision because I'm not well enough mentally to know what I'm doing.

What if I'm not a fake? What if I really am ill and I'll need to spend the rest of my life receiving some kind of care or another. What would be the point in living?

Then I remember what Dan said about Lucy's case. He said that he'd re-opened it. So Lucy will be going through the same things that I am. Will have to answer the same questions that I have. Will be made to feel as disgusting as I do. So if Lucy's going through the same things as me then surely it would be a good idea for us to see each other. For us to support each other.

Me spending time with Lucy and discussing what she's been through as well is surely going to be more productive than talking about it to a complete stranger who's never been through the same things themselves. She might say something that triggers something deep in my memory that so far I've managed to blank out. So I think that seeing Lucy would be a good idea.

But Sandra doesn't think so. She says that she's asked Dan about Lucy and he thinks that she'd have too much of a negative impact on me. I want to argue and say that I think it would be a really good idea but I'm still too tired. I really am drained. I hate feeling like this. Incapable.

Incapable of looking after myself. Incapable of being trusted to see whoever I want to see. But then I suppose at least I've got Sandra. She does seem to have some idea of how to look after me. Of how to get through to me. And of how to get me to listen to her and actually want to do what she says.

'Did you get your mobile credit?' Sandra asks.

I nod my head and then I remember that I've still not texted Jack since yesterday. He did tell me to contact him when it was convenient but I bet he was expecting an update before now.

And there is something significant to report. Adam has been arrested. The man who lured me into a paedophile ring has to put his side of the story forward. I wonder what he's going to put forward as his defence? I don't know too much about these types of cases. I don't know what kind of evidence is needed. Surely the prosecution can't rely on just the word of me, Lucy and any other girls suspected of being involved in order to secure a conviction?

Every time I think about the future and another potential court case, I feel sick. Even though once again it won't be me who's on trial I've still got a feeling that I'll be the one to lose everything as well. Although this time I haven't got anything to lose. Well, only my potential freedom in the future.

But what if the court case goes wrong? What if my evidence just makes me look like a psycho with mental illness issues. What if Adam and his "friends" walk free from all this and what I say just sounds like the type of lies that an attention seeking loser with no life makes up.

I must be muttering to myself because Sandra's trying to soothe me. I think she wants me to go to sleep but it's only the middle of the afternoon. If I fall asleep now then I'll probably wake up in the middle of the night again and that's part of what made me get into this state in the first place.

Dr Protection comes back in the room so I pretend to be asleep, but he must not be as daft as he looks because he talks to me like he knows that I'm fully awake. I'd forgotten that the drip was still inside my hand when he yanks it out without warning and I yelp and shoot him a look like he's just butchered me. I don't know what was inside the drip because it hasn't made me feel any better. But there all getting up to leave. Saying that I need my sleep and that things will be better tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty Seven

Kate's back. She's not supposed to be working today and she's only had one day off. But then I remember that it's Saturday and she'll be getting double time. Getting in all the hours she can before they realise how bad she is at her job.

Sandra lied to me yesterday. She said that things would be better today. But how can someone like Kate getting paid a fortune to sit and look at me moronically be good for me?

I feel like a gorilla in a zoo again. Kate's brought a load of fresh fruit with her and is wittering on about how it's a special diet that I've got to follow. I sit-up in bed, to make myself more comfortable, but Kate immediately jumps down my throat and tells me how I've been ordered by Dr Protection not to go out. I don't bother explaining myself. Instead I just roll my eyes and start eating a banana. Not because I want to please Kate but because I actually am hungry.

Eventually Kate has enough of gawking at me and goes to see if any of the other exhibits in the nut-house are worth looking at. I get up out of bed and find my mobile. It needs charging up so I plug it in whilst I go and have a shower.

By the time I look at my mobile again there's a message waiting for me. From Jack:

You heard anything about Lucy? She's gone missing. Again. x

Well, I suppose we all have our ways of dealing with things. I don't know much about Lucy's past but the fact that Jack has put "again" separately at the end of the message says a lot. Even though my head's still all over the place I call Jack. He answers straight away and immediately says that he'll call me back.

'You okay?' he asks. 'You sound a bit funny.'

I don't really know what to say to that. I don't know if I should tell him that I fainted when I saw Adam's mug-shot, but I don't really get the chance to answer Jack's question as he's too busy telling me about Lucy. He tells me that the police had interviewed her again about her initial allegations but that bringing it all back up must have affected her badly.

Hearing about what Lucy's been through in the past few years is difficult. She really has had it a lot harder than me. I want to tell Jack that hearing things like this is probably the last thing I need right now, but he's done so much for me and sounds like he needs someone to speak to. Someone who understands.

'Can you come and help look for her?'

I don't respond but Jack can hear my tears.

'What's wrong?'

I want to tell him but I can't speak. I feel ashamed that I'm not capable of dealing with all this. I should be stronger than this. I've had to cope with far worse things in my life. I think about hanging the phone up on Jack when I hear him say:

'If I don't find her soon then they'll take her little girl off her.'

I never knew that Lucy had a daughter. She can barely look after herself so I don't know how she copes with a child. But maybe I'm being harsh. After all, I'm hardly someone who can claim to being an expert in looking after themselves.

'Has she got the baby with her?'

'No, her mum's got her, but Lucy doesn't get on with her mum. It's complicated. Lucy's was in and out of care so Social Services have been intent on looking for any excuse to take her daughter off her.'

'How do you know Lucy?'

I know that's not really relevant but I need to know what's Jack's getting out of this. After all, he's a young guy on a Saturday morning. He should be getting ready to go to the football or something.

'I went to school with her brother. I've known Lucy all her life. She's had a tough life.'

I want to be able to help Jack but I don't know what use I'll be. If I even attempt to go outside then I know that I'm going end up collapsing again. But at the same time knowing that Jack needs my help is going to make me feel even worse.

'I feel guilty,' Jack says, catching me off guard because my mind has started to drift.

'She told me before she got pregnant that she's was being taken advantage of by a group of men, but I thought that she was exaggerating because she's always been a bit of a flirt. Plus, I didn't really understand what she meant. She just said that she'd met a couple of them when she was out. I thought that she meant that she'd met some blokes in a pub or something like that.'

Jack's voice starts to sound strained. Like he's just realised that if he'd have listened properly to Lucy in the first place then Adam and his "friends" would have been dealt with a long time ago. Perhaps meaning that over girls wouldn't have had to have gone through the same abuse.

Girls like me.

I want to put the phone down on Jack because what he's saying is making me feel awful. What if what I went through could have been stopped? My life was pretty much ruined anyway so it's not like I've missed out on any golden opportunities to make something of myself, but that might not be the case for all the girls who've been abused.

I finally manage to tell Jack that I'm sorry and that I'll call him when I'm feeling better. Whenever that may be.

PART TWO

Chapter One

I never expected to get one card for my birthday, let alone six. I'm 16 today, but have I got anything to celebrate? I've sort of got my health. My physical health is okay. And my mental health is slowly getting better. Also, I'm not dying from A.I.D.S. so it seems that condoms actually do work.

For the first time in years I feel like I've got people in my life who actually care about me. Kate's still on the scene but I just use the days when she's on duty to do some school work. I've decided to try and attempt to do some GCSEs. At the moment, I won't be taking them this year, the year that normal 16 year-olds do, but then I suppose I'm never going to be normal.

Dan still feels the need to come in and see me almost daily, but his subordinate has been assigned duties more in line with her skills as a police officer, like filling in for a lollypop man who's had a stroke, and she now spends her days helping little school children walk across a zebra crossing. Well, she's probably not doing that but it's my special day and I can use my birthday wishes on whatever I want.

Gillian got investigated, but, as I thought would happen, she was able to keep her job. She's just been passed on to another department where no doubt she claims that her experience in failing to look after me has made her even more qualified in doing her job and that she even deserves a pay rise. In the end though, Gillian hadn't really done much wrong. She just didn't do anything right. But then she's good enough at arse licking to get what she wants so no doubt in a few years she'll be in Mrs Robinson's job.

Adam and his "friends" have a date for their court case. There's going to be nine men in court but only six of them are ones who raped me. Just like there are victims out in the streets who won't come forward; there are cunning and calculating rapists who are roaming the streets, waiting for the next "Cheap White Meat" party date to be announced.

Dan was right that time when he said the police were investigating incidents of child sexual exploitation all over the country. Jack's shown me the various press articles that his friend has put together on a website. Jack's friend. The one with the "reputation". The one who Dan said that it wasn't a good idea to be involved with.

Now I'm not saying that any of the separate police investigations are linked, and that there's some national "Cheap White Meat" distributor, but there are a lot of "themes" which keep on arising when reading the articles. One of the most significant themes is that the police were more concerned about "political correctness" being followed rather than highlighting the fact that young girls were danger from a certain type of "men" who work in takeaways and as taxi drivers.

I remember as a kid in primary school being told not accept sweets or lifts from a stranger. But I don't remember the lesson on not accepting lifts from a bloke who'd slowly won your trust over a number of weeks.

But of course, when I was hanging around in Megabites I wasn't fully right in the head. I seemed intent on causing harm to myself one way or another. If I hadn't have been hanging around in that takeaway then I could have just as easily fallen into the hands of some down and out alcoholics or drug addicts.

I was at a very weird stage in my life. I wasn't sure what I wanted. And I didn't know if anyone would want me. So when Adam actually took an interest in me then I didn't really think about the consequences. After all, I was 15. I consented. Lucy's also admitted that she consented, at first.

If Adam hadn't introduced me to any of his "friends" then he'd probably have got away with it. But I don't really like thinking about it. Whenever I do, I automatically feel ill. That's why I agreed to start doing the GCSEs. It helps take my mind off things.

Sandra seems keen for me to open my cards. I don't know why, I pretty much know who they're going to be from. It's not that I'm ungrateful but receiving a piece of colourful card with a few words doesn't really mean that much to me.

I hold the cards out in front of me. Three of them have stamps on which means that they've come from "outside". I leave those to the end and open the one I know is from The Others. The Self-Harmer thinks she's a bit of an artist so she always draws little pictures around the edge of the envelope. Next, I open one that turns out to be the one from the staff. I scan my eyes over the various messages, smiling whilst nodding my head, for what I hope is long enough to pacify Sandra. I get a pleasant surprise when I open the next one and it's a personal one from Sandra. I'm actually being sincere when I tell her that it means a lot to me and I automatically open the next card without trying to guess who it's from. However, when I notice the handwriting I automatically know who's got back in touch with me.

Chapter Two

Mum's being released on parole in two weeks. The envelope has already been opened, all my mail is screened for some reason, so Sandra already knows what it says. I read it and try to take it all in. Mum's not really put much, just the basics. But then I start to wonder. Mum might be about to be released, but where's she going to go?

Seven years is a long time. It's not like we can both pack what meagre belongings we've been allowed to keep and go back to the town we were both born in. And would Mum even want me in her life again? I've been making progress over the past few months but I doubt that any doctor would recommend that I went to live with someone who themselves was being reacquainted with freedom.

Sandra tells me that today is not the day to worry about the future. And she's right. Today is the day to celebrate with pizza. I'm being sarcastic by the way. I've never been one to look forward to my birthday and I don't see why this one should be any different. It's not like I can have loads of friends and family round to celebrate.

'Are you not going to open your other cards?'

'Why don't you save me risking a paper-cut and tell me who they're from. I know you've screened them.'

Sandra shakes her head and says, 'There's no need to be like that.'

But they way I'm feeling there is. I don't know why but finding out that Mum's going to be released soon has made me feel awful. What if she does reject me? It's not like I've been pining all my hopes on her coming to rescue me from the nut-house, but the option would be nice.

Most people get gift vouches or money in their birthday cards. I got a prison visiting order. Sandra must think that I'm up to visiting Mum otherwise she wouldn't have let me see it. Mum just put in the card that it's up to me how I want to take things with our relationship. It's almost like she knows that the chances of me being given the visiting order are remote so the card stood a better chance of getting passed on to me if if didn't have anything provocative written in it.

I look quizzically at the visiting order. Sandra explains that Mum's been moved to a different prison. When I start to look worried she quickly explains that it's a good thing. That it show's Mum's made a lot of progress recently and that the prison service feel she's no longer a danger to the public.

But then Mum never was a danger to the public. All she did was try to protect her daughter. All she did was what any mother would do. It's just a shame that a lot of people, who somehow have the power to ruin people's lives, don't see it like that.

Sandra tries to sound positive when she says that Mum's new prison is only 15 miles away, but I don't see what difference the distance travelled would make. I'd still be bundled into the back of a people carrier and flanked either side by a member of staff. I'd still have to be searched before I got into the people carrier. I'd be searched again before they'd let me into the prison. And finally I'd be searched again before they let me out.

But I'm not sure if I want to see Mum straight away. She'll have changed so much. Her face won't have seen proper fresh air for seven years. Her hair won't be the same. Her body might not be the same.

I know mine isn't. The last time I properly hugged Mum I didn't even come above her shoulders. But now I'd be head and shoulders above her. It'd be like hugging a totally different person. But then I suppose I'll never know unless I get over my fears and face up to things.

I put the visiting order to one side and open the last two cards. The first one is from Lucy. I check the postmark, in case she's run away again, but she's been behaving herself lately. She had a bad spell when the arrests were first made and it started to be reported in the local paper, but she's finally seen a psychiatrist and seems to be making progress. Faster progress than I am even.

Although, typically, I don't like my psychiatrist. And why should I? If she were any good at being a psychiatrist then she'd be working with the rich and famous, getting them over the disappointment of their latest album not selling, not having to deal with some former child prostitute with unresolved childhood issues.

The final card's from Jack. It doesn't really say much, but at least he's bothered to send me a card. My mood towards Jack constantly changes. Sometimes I wish that he would disappear from my life because he's got what he wanted and he's made sure that justice is going to be brought against the men who go around targeting vulnerable young girls. But other times I wish I could have a proper relationship with him.

Not like _that_.

But I have to ask permission every time I have any contact with him. But I'm 16 now. Maybe he'll make a move on me.

Ha, a certain type of farm animal will fly.

Chapter Three

Even though it's _my_ birthday, I let The Others fill their plates with pizza before going over to see what's left. I'm still not sure if The Others know properly about what's been happening in my life over the past six month or so. They still make a point of letting me know I'm not a part of their "little gang", but they treat me with more respect now. It's almost as if because I've stayed true to myself, and not begged them to like me, that they sometimes forget they're supposed to hate me and almost treat me like a human being.

Because it's a special occasion, the rest of the staff are obliged to join us, so it's standing room only by the time Sandra waltzes in with a cake. I don't like being the centre of attention, but I know that the sooner I blow out my candles, and pretend to make a wish, then the sooner the cake will be divided up and everyone will disappear once they've had their share.

Because everyone's busy stuffing their faces there's an uneasy silence in the room. Normally, this silence is filled by one of The Others saying something inappropriate and one of the staff shouting at them in their best military voice about how they should behave. But The Others seem to be on their best behaviour today. Maybe I should turn 16 everyday.

Eventually though The Psychotic starts to get restless, and no doubt Sargent Do-As-I-Say wants a fag, so she's encouraged to go into the enclosure and get some fresh air. Because the seal's now been broken, everybody else has an excuse to leave and within a couple of minutes it's just me and Sandra.

So that's the full extent of my birthday celebrations. Well, at least I can pin all my hopes on having a better 18th.

Sandra's keeps looking at me, sympathetically. So I know she's going to start asking about Mum soon. Whilst I might talk to Sandra, and do almost everything she says, deep down I'm still an awkward little bitch so I'm not going to raise the subject first.

I shoot her a look when she mentions something about the pizza being nice, a look which tells her to get on with it, so she clears her throat and asks:

'Are you going to thank your mum for sending you a birthday card?'

I think about going into a tirade about how a birthday card on her daughter's 16th birthday is the least of her obligations, but I remember that things haven't exactly been easy for Mum over the past seven years. She lost all her fight in the end and wouldn't even appeal against her sentence.

A couple of years after it happened, I realised that if I came forward and admitted the truth then they'd release Mum. But when I went to see her she could hardly make eye contact with me, and whenever I tried to speak to her she'd just tell me to be quiet. And I think seeing Mum like that was the reason why I retreated into my shell because I knew that I had no chance of living a normal life for a very long time.

'I know your Mum sent you a visiting order, but she's allowed day release now.'

Would I want Mum to come and visit me here? To see the conditions I have to live in. I know they don't compare to a proper prison but I've got a pretty funny version of freedom.

And what does Mum know about me now? Does she know all about Adam? Does she know all about the court case. Does she know that in a few weeks time that I'm going to be thrust into the media spotlight again. Although this time my identity won't be revealed, I'm getting requests through from the media to put my side of the story out.

I've rejected them all so far, but Lucy has already done a couple of interviews that will apparently be published in line with the court case. However, Lucy's able to deal with talking about what happened to her far more comfortably. And her story is worth reading more. There's more gory details. More shocking tales of abuse. My story is just one of loneliness and naivety. Then of course, there's me being cruel enough to take advantage of Adam's loneliness and naivety.

Who am I kidding? I didn't have a clue what I was getting myself in for when I first started accepting lifts from Adam. He definitely knew what he was doing because by the time he finally made a move on me not only was I expecting it, I actually wanted it. How do I explain that to Mum?

It's bad enough having to tell Dan and whoever his daily subordinate is. At least I'll never have to see them again once the court case is over. Well, unless they finally get enough evidence together to identify the three men who are still on the loose. Then I would have to go through it all again.

Explain again how the first time that I was asked to go and "wait upstairs" that I expected Adam to be the one who came into the room. There's not really much you can do when a bloke twice your size locks the door and starts to get undressed. If I'd have screamed; who would have heard me? If I'd have tried to fight him off then what if he'd have got violent. After all, I'd gone up to the room expecting to get sex. It just happened to be with a different person.

It didn't trigger in my head that I was being used and abused at the time. I'd heard about girls being trafficked for sex, but it was always against their own will. I voluntarily walked up the stairs. I'd heard about girls being forced to work in brothels, but it they were always forced to sleep with loads of men each day. I only ever saw one a day. If that.

Adam never put any pressure on me to be there at a certain time each day. They played it low key. But when I turned up of my own accord they certainly took advantage of me.

I suppose I should have told someone straight away after my first time with Adam. But who could I have told? Kate and Gillian wouldn't have done anything about it. They wouldn't have known how. And all this went on _after_ Lucy's initial allegations. The police must have been keeping an eye on the place, just in case the erratic teen mum with a history of drug and alcohol abuse was telling the truth.

Surely they noticed the same girl sat in the window for hours on end at least two or three days a week. Behaviour like that isn't normal. But then it's like Jack constantly says; the police were too scared to investigate because it went against political correctness.

Well I hope all those fans of political correctness are happy with what I went through. All because they didn't want to offend or stigmatise a certain section of society.

Looking through all those reports on Jack's friend's website makes me so angry. They go back years and involve hundreds of the same type of men. Some victims are missing, presumed dead.

I asked Sandra a couple of days ago if she'd heard of a girl called Chloe who went missing from a care home about five years ago. She said that she remembers the story well. When I asked her if she thought that Chloe might have been a "Cheap White Meat" victim, she shook her head. She said that had never been suggested and there'd never been a link before.

It was only when I showed her the report, which reminded her that the two men who were charged with her murder, and acquitted, owned a takeaway, that Sandra fully started to understand what has been going on in the country. Undetected for years. Chloe's body has never been found. And I've got no doubt that there are other girls who've slipped through the system who've are also unsolved murder victims. Or perhaps there's girls who've committed suicide because of the abuse they've suffered but they've just been pigeon holed as a "depressed teen" or some other non-descript term like any that. Any term like that is better than causing offence to the precious "community".

All the previous cases have been treated as isolated incidents, but they are linked. Okay, there isn't any national "Cheap White Meat" distributor, but the men involved are always from the same background. The one background that you can't offend. The background that you can't interfere with. The background that doesn't have to assimilate into Britain. Can just live how they please. Bleed dry the parts of Britain they want to exploit and hide behind political correctness whenever they're found to be ruining lives.

I know Sandra feels the same way as me, but because she wants to keep her job, and in doing so help me get better so that these people don't ruin my life for good, she can't just come out and admit it. But that doesn't bother me. It'd just be words anyway. I know how she feels inside, deep down.

'So if I just say "yeah",' I ask Sandra, 'then Mum can come here and visit me?'

'Yes, if that's what you want. It's probably best that you just build up contact slowly. Just in case.'

Just in case of what? Just in case Mum doesn't actually want anything to do with me in the long-term. She only wants to see me face-to-face to tell me what a bitch I am. I'd deserve either of those outcomes, but Mum has exactly the same to look forward to in her life as me. Sweet F.A.

'Okay,' I say, to Sandra.

I've been in care long enough to know that I only have to give the word and a dedicated team will see to my every need. For some reason, there are people very adept at sorting out visits like this. I think it's because it generates a mountain of paperwork and Kate can hide behind that for a week and claim that she's been "rushed off her feet".

Chapter Four

"There's someone here to see you." That's all Kate said as she escorted me to the Interrogation Zone. No words of encouragement or wishes of good luck. She even makes me open the door to the Interrogation Zone myself.

'Alright cha?'

It's Jack and his stupid term of affection. To be honest it'd be far too quick for Mum to make an appearance. Lucy is also here so for some reason. Sorry, I'm being a bit harsh. Must be a hangover from all the pizza and cake.

I look back at Kate and wonder if she's going to be joining us, but she says something about calling for her if I need anything and leaves us to it. There's C.C.T.V recording everything so she can watch us on that. Save us having to see her moronic face for a while.

'How was your birthday?' Lucy asks.

'Alright. We just had the usual. Pizza, cake. I got quite a few cards. Thanks for yours by the way.'

They both nod a me but stop themselves from speaking when it looks like I've got something else to say.

'I also got another card.'

Lucy's face changes almost as if she thinks it might have been from Adam or someone like that, so I quickly tell her:

'Was Mum. She's being released in two weeks. Wants to come and visit me here on day release.'

'Oh, that's good.' Jack says, tentatively.

I told Jack a few weeks ago about a big plan I'd dreamt up of going to live with him. He just laughed at me but sort of took it seriously when I told him that he'd be paid for it. But I wouldn't be allowed to go and live with Jack. Go and do something that I'd want and something that might actually help me in the long-term.

'Yeah. I'm not sure what she's wants in the long-term. I mean I don't know what she's going to do about a job and whether I'd be allowed to live with her, or even if she'd want me.'

'She's your mum. Of course she'd want you,' Lucy says, trailing off. She's probably thinking about her relationship with her daughter and then remembering the relationship she's had with her own mum, and how, in part, that's to blame for the way she is at the moment.

'Mmm,' I say, looking at Jack, but he's keeping quiet.

'I'm sure it'll be okay,' Lucy says, as she makes sure that her sleeve is fully rolled down her arm so the scars from her self-harming sessions aren't on show.

'So what's happening with you?' I ask Jack.

'Oh you know. Work sucks. I have to work with a load of morons who've said about four interesting or funny things in the month I've worked there. And that was only when they were paraphrasing me.'

I laugh at Jack but I'm not sure what paraphrasing means. Lucy doesn't either, but she doesn't seem to care that it makes her come across as dumb and she asks him to explain himself. I'm sure Jack's being melodramatic but I can tell that he really does hate his job. And then there's people like Kate who are allowed to keep their jobs. Just because they've got the right piece of paper. Because they tick enough boxes on the equal opportunities form and have somehow managed to gain that all important experience.

'Something better will come along,' I say.

Then I remember that I'm going have to look for a job soon. What chance have I got of finding something I like if someone like Jack is struggling. I suppose I could always take Lucy's career choice and become a Babymaker. Lucy hates it when I call her that but she knows I'm only joking.

'Have you thought any more about doing any interviews?'

'I'm not doing one,' I say, shaking my head defiantly.

There's no way I'm doing it. It seems to have worked for Lucy but I don't see what good it would do for me. I like to keep my private life just that, private. Even though they'd protect my identity, I'd still feel ashamed and feel like everyone would know that I've messed my life up again.

I just want to be able to get through the next few weeks and then see where I am. See what Mum's got to say for herself. See what her plans are for the future. See what Adam, through his interpreter, has to say for himself in court. And see what's in store for him in the future. Jack seems convinced that he'll get 10 years, but I think it'll be a lot less than that.

Once that is all out of the way then I can at least see what options I've got. As long as I keep my head down and try to get on with things as quietly as possible then I've got half a chance of being able to move somewhere "normal" when I've got to leave this place, rather than another "nut-house".

However, if I start causing a scene, or say something to the media that is sensationalised and makes me look like I'm a danger to myself, then they're going to see me as a potential nutcase who they can keep locked up forever so that people like Kate have got a purpose in life.

Jack can tell that I've drifted off into a daydream so he asks me what's on my mind.

'The future.'

'You'll have to get yourself a boyfriend now you're 16,' Lucy suggests.

I laugh at that thought because I'm definitely not ready for that. Even if someone did come along who liked me then I'd probably push them away. I've got other things I need to sort out first before I can even contemplate anything like that. But what if I'm not "ready" until I'm about 20. How would I explain that I'd got to that age but never had a boyfriend? That would make me look weird. Would probably put people off. I know if I met some lad who was 20 and he'd never had a girlfriend it would make me think "what's wrong with him?", or, even worse, "how small is it?".

I've got to be careful how I play things. Whilst I'm not ready to have a boyfriend, if I start having one night stands or relationships which break down after a few weeks then it will make me look unstable. And it would be just my luck to start looking unstable when I potentially might have something going for me.

'How long are we allowed to stay for?' Jack asks.

Both Jack and Lucy look uncomfortable. They always do when they come to visit me here. I think it's because they know that they're being filmed and they have to be careful about what they say in case someone over hears it and passes it on to Adam's lawyers so that they can used it to try and discredit the allegations against Adam and his "friends".

Although when we go outside we never have any peace. It's like every police officer around here recognises one of us so they get on their little radios to check that we're not breaking some kind of draconian law. Or they'll just come over to see if they "can be of any assistance".

'Why, you wanting to go?' I ask.

'No, but I remember how hard it's been for you to convince people to let us see you. Don't want to make things difficult.'

'Well, I'm not in prison so I should be allowed to see whoever I want. Anyway, they should be glad that I've got people who want to see me. None of The Others have.'

That's true by the way. One of the reasons why The Others make such a big thing about being a "gang" together is because they don't fit in with anyone else. I've got no brothers and sisters; I've never known my dad and Mum is in prison, so that's why I don't see any of my family. However, it's different for The Others. They all have families. But visits are few and far between. That's why the psychiatrists put so much emphasis on doing sessions about "dealing with rejection".

I'm sure that The Others would gladly tell someone that they'd fit back into society far easier than me, but I don't think that's the case. Since they've been here, the only people they've been able to build a relationship with has either been someone who is in the exact same situation as them or someone who is paid to look after them. Out in the big wide world people have their own problems. Anyone worth knowing isn't going to be on the look-out for a needy teen with mental health issues.

But then whilst I'm proud of the relationship I've managed to build up with Jack and Lucy, my big test is going to come when it's time to see if I can re-build my relationship with Mum.

Chapter Five

Sandra keeps on fussing around me. Asking if I'm happy with what I've chosen to wear. Whether I want a drink. Need some fresh air. When she asks me again if I'm happy with what I'm wearing I automatically think that there's something wrong with it and look in the mirror. The top I'm wearing isn't something I'd normally wear but Mum's been in prison for seven years, I'm sure she hasn't come here to gawk at my cleavage.

I don't know why I've got ready so early because Mum's not due to arrive for another 30 minutes. No doubt the traffic will be bad which means it will be even longer before I get to see her.

It feels weird being in this position. Being the one waiting for the visitor to arrive. Normally I'm the one stuck in the car, keeping an eye on the traffic. My worst nightmare was always that we'd get stuck in a traffic jam on the motorway. I was that paranoid I was certain they had a sign on the outside of the car that read: _Child in care. On prison visit to see Mother_.

I still get paranoid from time to time that people will be able to see it written all over my face about the kind of childhood I've had to endure. Even though I'm convinced that the worst is over, it still affects me. I have a lot riding on today. I sort of need Mum to be the old Mum. The one before Gavin and his precious little Lottie came along.

I need the Mum who devoted all her time to me. Gavin was okay with me at first. Always used to always buy me a present or give me some money. But that was when he was trying to get on Mum's good side. I'm not saying that he started treating me badly but he wasn't very subtle in letting me know that I wasn't the reason he'd come round to our house. He normally only used to come round after tea. Around the time that sweet and innocent little girls should have been in bed. But it was hard getting to sleep when I could hear his deep brooding voice sounding through the floorboards, and then later on when they did that thing that adults have to do to justify their relationship together.

Lottie didn't live with Gavin full-time. Although Lottie did have some little fantasy about how that was going to change. That's where Mum came in. Even though Lottie had a mum of her own, she'd have rather lived with Gavin and mine. I don't know why. Maybe she believed the bullshit that Gavin used to say to her about her being the most precious girl in his life. Even at that age I knew how men's minds worked; which part of their body they consulted first when thinking.

I only saw Gavin once after Lottie died. He was still in shock and had his ex-wife by his side in hysterics so he didn't really say anything to me. The next I saw of him was on the television giving some interview questioning Mum's role in events.

I can't even remember the reason why Mum had taken me and Lottie out on her own. Nothing like that was explained to us. We were just told that we were going down to the river to play and that was that. Although thinking about it now, they probably thought that if me and Lottie were together without Gavin's shadow watching over us then we might get on better. Find some common ground. But I don't try and suck up to someone to try and get them to like me for an easy life. Although perhaps if I did then I might have had a better life.

I _Googled_ Gavin's name once, to see if I could find out some information about what he's up to these days. He can't exactly be that good at his job, or arse licking, because he's still pounding the beat as a constable.

I've often wondered if he regrets being so insistent that "justice" was gained for the death of his daughter.

He's also one the of the reason's why I don't want to do a media interview like Lucy's done. I know that he'd recognise me. Somehow. There'd be something in the interviews that would make him think "I bet that's that Jennifer Costello bitch, I knew she was a loser".

'Oh, someone's early,' Sandra says when she checks her mobile.

My stomach jumps and I wonder whether I'm doing the right thing. I mean what am I supposed to say to the woman whose life I ruined? "Sorry" doesn't exactly make everything okay.

Sandra can tell that I'm feeling nervous and almost has to push me out of my bedroom. The Alcoholic is bounding down the corridor and asks what I'm up to. I think about rubbing it in and saying "my mum's come to see me" but I've suddenly gone mute again. The Alcoholic must have better things to do than try and make small talk with me because she goes into her room and slams the door behind her, before music starts blasting out within seconds.

I'm probably going to have to think of a new nickname for The Alcoholic because she's not had a drink for about nine months. But then does anyone ever stop being an alcoholic? Or can a 15 year-old even become an alcoholic. She's just an impressionable teenager with an addictive personality.

Sandra leads the way to the Interrogation Zone but she constantly has to turn around and encourage me to catch her up. To be honest I don't really want to go through with this now. I'm not sure I'm really prepared for any outcome. Whether Mum's just come to tell me that she doesn't see me as part of her future. Or whether she's come to tell me that she's got a plan in place of how we can have a life together.

Sandra knocks on the door and some woman I've never seen before answers. She looks like Sargent Do-As-I-Say's long lost sister but I soon forget about her when I see Mum sat on one of the sofas.

Chapter Six

Sandra says that she'll leave us to it, but the woman who's with Mum, who I presume is a prison guard, stands to attention by the door. I notice that she's got a handcuff around her wrist. Well, at least they've saved Mum the indignity of being handcuffed in front of me.

Mum makes me feel uncomfortable when she looks me up and down. I suppose I have changed a lot since she last saw me but she still looks the same, in her body at least. She's still stick thin, but her face is now has an unhealthy gaunt look about it.

'Are you going to sit down?' Mum asks.

Her voice is still the same. I wonder if I still sound the same, but I've probably got a totally different accent to the one I had when I was a kid. No doubt I've picked up the worst traits of the various places I've been forced to live up and down the country.

I sit down on the edge of the sofa opposite Mum and attempt to smile.

'Do you like living here now? Last time you wrote you said that you hated it.'

'You know me, I always make a molehill out of a grain of sand.'

Mum laughs at my little joke. I don't bother telling her that I've just paraphrased Jack so that means I'm technically a moron with nothing interesting to say.

I've not bothered to ask Sandra what Mum knows about my situation at the moment so I don't feel comfortable about asking any questions and wait for Mum to speak again.

'I'm sorry I couldn't be here for your birthday.'

'It's okay. I understand.'

'I did try writing to you a couple of months ago but they said that you wasn't well enough to receive the letters.'

'I've had some stuff going on. Getting it sorted. Slowly.'

Mum looks worried. They've not told her. This is going to be awkward. If we're going to have any sort of future together when do I tell her that I've been sexually abused?

'They must have told you something about what's been going on in my life?' I ask.

Mum shakes her head. She covers her eyes and looks away, trying to blink her tears away. I pick up the box of tissue that is on the side and go over to Mum, offering her one. She takes a tissue and dabs her eyes with it gently, like she's trying to show that she wasn't properly crying.

This reminds me of the time when Mum had to sit me down in front of the fireplace one night and tell me that my granddad had died. I was only 5 at the time but I can still remember it now. I remember sort of understanding what dying meant and trying to get some words out in between the tears.

Except this time it's me doing the comforting. The one putting their arm around the shoulder and saying that everything will be okay.

'So, you going to put me in the picture?' Mum asks.

I don't know where to begin. Should I start with something positive like I've somehow made a couple of friends in Jack and Lucy, and I've finally found a carer who can deal with me in Sandra? I look over at the prison guard. She's pretending to be staring straight ahead at nothing in particular but I know that she's listening to every word we say. It's her _job_ to gather evidence. Just in case Mum says something that means she can't be released. After all, what would this woman do about her mortgage repayments and summer holidays if every prisoner just fitted back into society upon release?

'Shall we start with me then,' Mum asks, 'if you don't know where to start?'

I nod my head.

'They've found me a house to live in not far from here. I've to go on a training course but I hope to be working again in a few months time.'

'I don't want to stay around here.'

I look at Mum, checking to see if her eyes say, "Well, I wasn't really planning on you coming to live with me."

'Oh,' she says. 'I thought that you'd be settled around here.'

'Too much has gone on.'

Even though it would mean starting again, totally from scratch, away from Jack and Lucy, and even Sandra, I need to get away from this area. There's too many bad memories. I've got on the wrong side of a very close-knit community and if any of them find out who I am then I could be in danger.

Lucy told me a story about a girl who a year ago came forward to the police. She dropped her allegation though soon after. The official line was that there wasn't a case to answer. However, in another part of the country, two men were convicted of witness intimidation in a case very similar. Lucy thinks the same thing happen with that girl. Of course, she can't prove it, but when I mentioned it to Dan he gave his none committal police answer of, "I can't comment on individual cases." Roughly translated, that means; "It happened. But it would go against our precious political correctness to investigate the matter in any more detail."

'Maybe I should have a word with your Key Workers. Is it Mrs Robinson who's in charge of your case?'

'No,' I squeal. 'Don't ask her.' The last thing I want is Mrs Robinson trying to explain to Mum how they've done everything they could for me but in the end I was just too ungrateful.

'Oh, it's just she's the person I have to write to. I thought she was in charge.'

'She is. It's just that she's got no personality. She won't tell you the truth. Talk to Sandra. She understands me.'

Mum looks over at her prison guard. 'Do you want me to talk to her now?'

'It's up to you.'

'Well, it is you I've come to see. But then I suppose I need to understand what's been going on. You've changed so much.'

'You still look the same.'

I don't know if Mum finds that comforting but that's how I meant it. Mum gives the nod to the prison guard who opens the door and Sandra appears within seconds. I'm asked if everything is okay and Mum fills Sandra in, saying that she wants to have a word with her alone. Sandra asks me if that's okay with me. When I say it is Sandra suggests that I wait in my bedroom and she'll come and get me when she's ready.

Chapter Seven

I try to settle down and read a book whilst listening to the radio but everything is getting on my nerves. What if I've just made a huge mistake? What if hearing about what I've been up to ruins everything Mum had planned. Ruins everything for both of us. I think about calling Jack but what can he do to help? Plus, he's probably busy listening to morons paraphrase him. I've just got to sit here and hope for the best.

Sit and wait.

And wait.

Finally Sandra enters my room. I'm half expecting her to say that Mum's gone for the day. Instead, she asks me if I'm ready. I ponder asking Sandra about what's been discussed but she seems in a hurry to get me back to the Interrogation Zone.

Mum's stood pacing around the room when I return. Straight away she makes a bee line for me and hugs me tightly. I hug her back but I look up at the prison guard in case we're breaking the law or something.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Mum asks. We both look up at the same time and laugh because it's not really important now. What is important is that Mum knows and she hasn't slapped me for being so stupid and told me that she doesn't want anything to do with me again.

'I told you that men are bastards. Do you remember?'

'Yeah, I remember.'

Mum finally releases me from her grasp and sits down on the sofa. I sit down, this time next to her, and let her hold my hand.

'You've been very brave,' she says.

'Have I?'

'Of course. There's plenty of women I know who've been the victim of rape who won't come forward.'

'It wasn't proper rape,' I start to say, but Mum stops me.

'Sweetie,' she says, stroking my hair behind my ear, 'that man took advantage of you and then let his friends take advantage of you. For the last seven years I've had my sleep broken by the screams of women who've been forced to have sex against their will. And that's from being assaulted by another women. So I dread to think what men are like.'

I want to tell her that he never hurt me, but I don't know why I still want to stick up for Adam all the time. My time with Adam might not have been that bad but I feel so ashamed at the thought of what I had to do with his "friends". I also get a sinking feeling when I think that Mum might have been one of the women who've been forced to have sex against their will, but today's not really the day to bring that up. Instead, I squeeze Mum's hand and say:

'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'For understanding. Not freaking out. Not hating me.'

'I don't hate you Jennifer. No matter what happens, I could never hate you.'

Mum puts my head on her shoulder but I feel guilty. It seems that deep down I'm determined to put that to the test one way or another.

'Can I come and see you again?' Mum asks.

'If you want.'

Mum laughs and says, 'We could maybe go out somewhere. Be better than just being stuck in here.'

'Would it just be the two of us?' I ask, looking over at the prison guard.

'Not at first. We'd have to take things slow. You can bring Sandra, and your friends as well. I'd like to meet them. Although I'm not really sure what a twenty-odd-year old man sees in you.'

'It's a long story. He's sort of my unofficial social worker. And Jack doesn't like me like that.'

'But you wish he did?'

' _Mum_ ,' I say, as I feel myself burn up.

'You've always got along better with boys than girls. What was the name of your friend at school?'

She knows it's Matt. She just wants me to say his name to see if I start blushing again.

'You ever wonder what he looks like now. I remember that his dad was pretty cute.'

' _Mum_.'

'What? He wasn't still with Matt's mum. He did take me out once but it wouldn't have worked. He wasn't one for kids getting in the way.'

I've always hated it when Mum starts talking about her old boyfriends. One, it reminds me of Gavin. And two, I'm scared she's going to start mentioning a relationship she was in about 16 years ago. I can't ever remember her mentioning my dad, whoever he may be. I'm sure Mum knows though. She's not like _that_.

'I've got to go soon. But it's been really good seeing you. I always regretted losing contact with you but I was in a really bad place.'

I want to tell her that it's okay but I don't really know what to say. But I know that I don't want her to go. The prison guard opens the door and Sandra appears when she's whistled for. I'm expecting to be able to walk Mum to her car but it soon becomes clear that Sandra wants me to leave the room so that I don't see Mum put back in handcuffs. That wouldn't bother me because I've seen Mum in handcuffs loads of times but I don't want to cause a scene today.

Mum kisses me on the cheek and says, 'Can I call you?'

I look at Sandra, who nods at me, so I say, 'Yeah, that would be good.'

Mum hugs me again, tighter than I can ever remember being hugged before, and kisses the top of my head. I don't deserve this. I've been such a bitch my whole life.

'I'm going to make it up to you.'

'You don't have anything to make up to me Mum.'

'Yes I do. I didn't put you first.'

'It doesn't matter.'

I can hear Mum start to cry and that sets me off. I don't want to let go of her but I feel so uncomfortable with Sandra and the prison guard watching us. I release my arms from around Mum and she finally lets me breath again.

'I call you,' she says.

'Okay.'

I feel Sandra's arm on my shoulder and I move away from Mum. I want to say something comforting to her but I've suddenly gone mute again. Sandra leads me out of the Interrogation Zone but makes me walk in front of her like she doesn't want me to look behind.

'Come on, you can see her soon.'

I suddenly get what Mum meant by saying that she's hoping to get a place not far from here. It would mean that I could visit her easily. Maybe stop over the odd night. After all, we've got to take things slowly. I'm still under observation, I'm not likely to get signed off and be let free to roam the streets as I please just because my Mum's been released from prison.

Sandra keeps on encouraging me to keep on walking but I want to turn round and apologise to Mum. Apologise for being so rude for saying that I didn't want her to live round here. She was only doing it for me. I'm sure if she had a choice of where to make a fresh start for herself in the country then it wouldn't be around here.

I mean what hope has she got for the future? Getting a job on the minimum wage working in a shop or a bar somewhere. I really have ruined her life and despite that she still wants me to be a part of it. She still insists that she's the one to blame. That she's the one who has let me down.

I make it back to my room and Sandra asks if I want some time alone, to think. I don't know what I want at the moment. I feel like I'm stuck in a nowhere place. Waiting for someone to make a decision about what's going to happen in the rest of my life.

It's like I'm waiting for someone to arrive with two envelopes in their hand. And I've got to choose one. In one envelope will be the chance of a normal life. A life of freedom. Jobs. Days out. Boyfriends. Maybe even a family of my own.

But in the second envelope there's a life of mental illness. Carers. Not being trusted to look after myself. A life where the only people who talk to me are the ones who are paid to because it's their _job_.

I know which one I want. Which one I need. But I've got a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that even if I chose the first envelope I'd still end up messing it all up. I seem to have some innate ability for that.

When I've still not given her an answer, Sandra opens my bedroom door for me and follows me in, sitting down on my bed with me.

'I know it's a lot for you to take in all at once. For both of you.'

'What did you tell Mum?'

'I just told her the basics. Didn't go into too much detail because it's pretty upsetting to hear at the best of times. But your mum seems really nice. I've worked with a lot of parents who want to have access again to their children but you can tell that they were putting on a front. But your mum's not like that.'

'She's hoping to get a house near here.'

'And you told her not to bother.'

'I didn't mean it like that. I meant for the future. I didn't understand properly. I want to tell her I'm sorry.'

'It's okay. She said that she'd phone you.'

'What if she doesn't though?'

'Of course she will. She came all this way to see you. And she didn't want to let you go, did she?'

I put her arms around myself, trying to remember what it felt like to be hugged by Mum. I want to believe what Sandra's saying but nothing good every happens in my life.

Chapter Eight

I think there's a phone call for me when Sandra comes bounding into my room. Instead, she tells me that Dan and superior are here to see me. Things must be getting serious if they've brought in the bloke who normally sits behind a desk all day getting into debt on internet poker sites.

Mrs Robinson is also in the Interrogation Zone when I get there but I don't think I'm in the mood for this today. I'm not in the mood for going all the way back to the beginning again and explaining what I got up to. Sandra also has a mountain of paperwork with her so no doubt they'll keep me here for hours today.

Dan's superior introduces himself like I'm supposed to be impressed by the number of fancy words and letters he's got in front of his surname. He says that he's pleased to finally meet me and that he's heard a lot about me. To be honest, he sounds like he's my imaginary boyfriend's dad, and he dresses just as bad.

'How did it go with your mum?' Dan asks.

I give Sandra a quick glance, just to check if I should answer that, like she's my big-shot lawyer, and say, 'Fine.'

'It'll be nice for you to have some support for when the trials on.'

Why, what's going to happen Dan? Am I going to be made to stand up in court and tell my version of what happened whilst Adam and his "friends" are stood in the dock glaring at me?

No.

I don't even have to attend the trial. All my evidence will be given before hand and I'll identify Adam and his "friends" through pictures. Apparently, this is to cause me as little amount of stress as possible because of my vulnerable situation, but I've still got to go through everything in minute detail, just in case there is anything significant that I've missed out. Just like the last time.

I can tell that Dan's superior is from the old school of policing. He doesn't like my "attitude" and probably thinks I'm being mollycoddled. But if he's as superior as he thinks he is, and he'd have been doing his job right in the first place, then he wouldn't be sat here now preparing for a type of case that should have gone before the courts years ago.

It's okay for this guy, he's arse-licked and bullied his way through the police system for decades to get into a position where he doesn't have to live in the real world any more. I'm not a person to him. I'm an inconvenience.

If the outcome of this trial is a public success then he'll be the first one to take the plaudits. However, if Adam and his "friends" are acquitted and the public question why tax payers money was spent on the trial in the first place then he'll lay the blame at me and Lucy. Saying that we're dregs of society who ruin every chance they get in life.

Because she's finally got a chance to ask someone who's supposed to be in charge, Sandra asks Dan's superior why Adam and his "friends" are on bail before the trial date.

'Due to the nature of the case.'

And what nature would that be? The nature where you're too scared to take things too seriously in case you have to apologise unreservedly to the precious "community".

Sometimes it doesn't feel like it's nine men who are going to be on trial but a whole group of people. Men, women and children, from past and present. And not just from the local "community", but from the country as a whole and even the world to a lesser extent. But it shouldn't be like that. If it was Dan and his "friends" who were waiting trial then they'd have been shunned from society and if they were on bail they would have to be in hiding for their own safety.

However, Adam and his "friends" seem to be being treated like martyrs within their community. The victims of a modern day witch-hunt. Because women now supposedly have equal rights then the vigilantly mob has to find someone else to attack. It's like they're questioning how we can have the tenacity to even suggest that a number of them have committed some crimes.

Dan shows me the pictures of the other men who are going to be on trial. I recognise some of their faces but not their names. This frustrates Dan's superior. Well, I suppose that if it had happened to him then he would have made notes at the time, just in case something like this happened in the future.

'We need your evidence to be 100% accurate,' Dan's superior says. 'Otherwise we're not going to get the convictions, or sentences, that the resources we've allocated to this case require.'

So that's how the police work is it? Is there a little PowerPoint presentation that is given to all new police recruits? For every hour they work they're expected to make one arrest or hand out some on the spot fine for riding a bike on the pavement. For every ten hours they spend on a particular case they're expecting a custodial sentence of at least one year.

Targets. That's all the police work to. That's why Lucy's case would have been thrown out in the first place. It would have been too much of a risk in court. Just like a personal injury firm who work on a "no-win no fee" basis. They won't take a risk on wasting their time and effort on cases that they _might_ not win.

But sometimes you've got to take risks. If those risks had been taken then it would have stopped me being abused. And it might have had an impact up and down the country. Made more people aware of just what was going on.

Even though Lucy's trial might not have been a success then other girls might have felt that they could come forward and speak out. It's not always about number of men behind bars and length of sentences handed out. They're good as a punishment for those who have committed the crimes. But more importantly they act as a deterrent to those who have the opportunity to get involved. An opportunity to get involved in the next great "Cheap White Meat" feast.

Lucy's trial would have created awareness. No matter what the outcome. Awareness in the public that things like this were going on and that nothing was being done about it. That awareness might have made other people come forward. And not just victims but people who might have suspected that they knew of someone who might potentially have been a victim.

When I first started hanging around in Megabites I never knew that I'd be in danger. I thought it would be safer because it was a public place. Situated on a busy street with lots of people coming and going. And I'm sure there are many girls my age who feel the same way. But if it was public knowledge that a small minority of takeaway workers and taxi drivers weren't safe to be around then many girls would have thought twice. Or at least even been able to spot the signs that there were being groomed.

I've tried to kid myself that I was looking for someone to take advantage of me, anyone, but that's not the case. If I was looking for just anyone then I'd have got into a car with the first dirty old man who ever gave me a second look. But Adam was different. He won my trust over a number of weeks. It started out with a friendly "hello" in the takeaway. And then waves in the street if he saw me. Then an offer of a lift. Every time just a little bit more. Every time he'd conveniently be in the right place at the right time. At the time it just seemed like a happy coincidence, but men don't work that way.

If Adam had tried to chat me up in Megabites then I'd have probably shunned his advances and made it plainly obvious that I wasn't interested. I had to do it with other blokes, thankfully they'd only try it on with me once. But Adam didn't do anything like that. And by the time he made his move, it felt so normal I didn't realise what I'd done was wrong until much later.

I don't remember much about what went on with Adam's "friends". This might frustrate Dan's superior but it's the truth. One of the things I'm pretty good at is blocking things out of my head that I don't want to think about. He's showing me pictures of the room where I "worked"; claiming it was a brothel, but I never saw it like that. It was just a room where I would go as and when I was available. There was no set arrangement in place. It doesn't matter wherever the place was a brothel or not. Several men, a lot older than me, paid to have sex with me whilst I was still a minor. The crime has been committed. And not just against me. But against several other girls.

When Dan's superior's had enough at huffing and puffing, Mrs Robinson decides to pipe up.

'I understand this is difficult for you, but we are trying to get a positive resolution for you.'

But they're not.

They're only taking part in this charade because it's what they've been told to do. How does constantly having to go over it time and time again get a positive resolution for me? At the end of this court case, what do I get out of it? If Adam and his "friends" are convicted then I get the satisfaction that what I've said in my statement can be believed beyond reasonable doubt. I'll order the balloons and party poppers now to celebrate with just in case.

If I had my way then I wouldn't want to be involved in any court case, but I'm not doing it for myself. I'm doing it for Lucy who won't be believed on her own. I'm doing it for the other girls who have been victims and are too frightened to come forward. Who feel like no one will believe them. I'm doing it so that the public are made aware of what has been happening. To make sure that there's a change in mind-set so that children are warned about the potential dangers that are free to roam our streets. So a positive resolution for me would be that I would never hear about this type of case in the future. Not because they're being covered up by the police again but because they're not happening. Although I know that's not going to happen.

Sargent Do-As-I-Say enters the room and says that there's a telephone call for me. Dan's superior questions whether it was really necessary for him to be interrupted with such a trivial notification but Sandra puts him the picture about Mum.

'Can it not wait?'

'No,' Sandra informs him, with a stare that looks like he's been touching her somewhere he shouldn't.

'Very well then. But don't be too long. I'm a very busy man.'

What a complete and utter knobhead this excuse for a man is. And that's just Sandra's opinion. Mine is far worse. Sargent Do-As-I-Say leads us to Mrs Robinson's office and says that she'll wait outside with Sandra.

Chapter Nine

There's no response when I speak into the phone. I feel like an idiot talking to no one so I nearly hang-up but don't when I hear a strained voice come on the line.

'Jennifer, I'm here.'

'Mum.'

'Sorry, I thought they wouldn't let you speak to me. My time's nearly up.'

'I was with the police.'

'Oh. I can call tomorrow if you're busy?'

'No. They can wait.'

And then silence.

Talking on the phone is much harder than speaking in person.

'Ten days.'

'Sorry?'

'Until I get released.'

'I know.'

'Is Sandra there?'

'Do you want to speak to her?'

'I want to speak to you too, but I haven't got much time.'

Mum's starting to sound panicky so I go and get Sandra. She comes into the room and very quickly she's making arrangements for a meeting. I want to tell Sandra that she's not due to be working that day but she doesn't seem too concerned about that. I go back on the line to say goodbye to Mum and say that I'll see her on Friday.

As soon as I put the phone down, I say to Sandra:

'Friday's your day off.'

'Would you rather Kate went with you?'

'No.'

'Well, I guess that I'm working Friday then.'

'You don't have to.'

'But I want to. My job is to get you out of here and back living with your mum as soon as possible. I can't turn around and say that you can't meet your mum on Friday just because it's "my day off".

I don't deserve this. After everything I've done in life I've got people going out of their way to help me. And I feel so useless because there's nothing that I can do in return for Sandra. I have to stop myself when I let myself start to think that everything's going to work out fine for me. Because if I let myself think it then there's no way that it's going to happen.

Sandra asks me if I'm okay and I remember that Dan and his superior are waiting for me. Although I'm not in the mood for them today, I don't want Dan's superior wanting to come and visit me on another day, say Friday for example.

'Come on,' I say, 'let's get on with it.'

There's just Mrs Robinson waiting for us when we return to the Interrogation Zone. Dan soon returns with his drug addiction in hand and his superior reeks with the affects of his own personal life-long battle with a socially acceptable addiction. Mrs Robinson makes a bit of small talk about the telephone call I've just had and Sandra fill her in with all the details.

'Right, let's get down to business,' Dan's superior says. 'I've spent the past few days pouring over your witness statement that is going to be read out in court on your behalf. This is one of our key pieces of evidence, do you understand that?'

Oh great, I'm 8 years-old once again. I roll my eyes pedantically and consider saying something a child would come out with, but Sandra notices my petulance and nudges me in the side, which makes me sit-up to attention.

Dan's superior doesn't pay any attention to the fact that I never got round to answering his question and instead gets Dan to read out my statement. The statement starts with a bit of background information about myself. How long I've been in care, what my mental state has been like during that time and what my relationship has been like with Mum, who is the only family I've got.

I think the main purpose of the start of the statement is to tug on the heartstrings of the jury and show how vulnerable I was at the time and how Adam and his "friends" took advantage of that vulnerability, no matter how much they might try to claim that I was compliant with them.

One of the things that Dan thinks Adam is going to use as a part of this defence is that he didn't know that I was only 15. After all, he can't deny that he didn't know me as numerous people have confirmed him being seen with him. His "friends", however, are likely to deny ever spending any time with me whatsoever.

My statement makes it quite clear I never told Adam that I was underage, but I also never lied to him and reassured him that I was 16 or older. Regardless of my age, he took advantage of me and then passed me on to his "friends" to do the same thing, and my medical records can prove that I wasn't "of sound mind" at the time.

Rape. Statutory rape. Sexual abuse. It doesn't matter what the actual term is, in this country it is against the law so if someone has committed a crime of this nature whilst in this country then they should be brought to justice for it, regardless of their background or acceptability in their own culture.

Dan's superior nods his head along as statement is read out, like he thinks that it's going to stand-up in court. I still cringe when Dan gets to the more "intimate" parts of the statement and I can't help but look at anywhere but at him. I'm so glad that I won't have to be in the court room when the statement is read out because I don't think I could take the look on the jury's faces when they hear about what I was subjected to.

Mrs Robinson stops Dan when he mentions something about the care I was receiving whilst the abuse was going on. The statement mentions that my Key Workers missed vital opportunities to spot that something was wrong in my life, but Mrs Robinson wants Dan to put in the statement that Gillian was investigated internally and whilst some failings were found they were dealt with in house.

I wonder why she wants that to be read out in court but then it dawns on me. She's doing it to cover her own back. If Adam and his "friends" are convicted then there will questions to answer as to why a child in care was allowed to get into this situation.

If Mrs Robinson gets in there first by saying the matter has already been looked into internally then her _job_ and precious reputation are safe. Even though Gillian's punishment consisted of her being shipped off to another section of the child care industry, or whatever it's called, to underperform and impose her uselessness there.

I consider saying something about what Mrs Robinson wants but Sandra doesn't seem to be concerned about it. The way that she's stuck-up for me over the past few weeks has been amazing. It's almost like she's telepathic. As soon as a thought enters into my head, but I can can't get my words out to bring it to attention, Sandra is already making the same point. More often than not she gets her own way and Dan's come to tread very carefully when he speaks in front of Sandra because he knows that she's far too clever for him.

When Dan's finished reading out my witness statement his superior nods his head and smiles like he's convinced he can see another large custodial sentence on his C.V. for a case that he's worked on. I bet he wishes that it was the "good old days" then he could have his celebratory cigar inside instead of having to go outside.

Mrs Robinson says that she's finished with me for the day as well because she's got to fill in the relevant paperwork to allow me to out for dinner with my own mum. Sandra yawns but apologises when I turn and look at her. I've no idea how long she's been here already today but whenever it's her shift she's always here before I wake up and still here when I've gone to bed. I think she officially works 37.5 hours per week but some weeks she must be here 50 or 60 hours.

I've no idea what kind of a state I'd be in without Sandra. I think the court case would still be going ahead but there's no way I'd be feeling as confident about facing it without her. If I still had Gillian here then my witness statement would probably make me look like the most unreliable and attention seeking witness ever.

Kate's still on the scene but it's good to use the days that she's lurking around to be able to forget about certain things for a while. Attempting to do some work towards my GCSEs gives me something to do and Dan's superior seemed impressed by it when Dan mentioned it in my statement so no doubt that's some extra browning points gained with the jury.

'What do you want for tea?' Sandra asks.

'What's been specially prepared to meet the needs of The Others?'

Sandra chuckles and says, 'I think it's some kind of stew. If you want that then you'll have to eat it with them because I'm not risking sneaking it out again.'

I'm now allowed proper plates and cutlery. Again, it's another thing that has to be kept secret from The Others so I have to keep them in my room and normally have whatever Sandra brings with her from home or whatever Kate can be bothered to put in the microwave in the staff room for me. But it's a small price to pay for a bit of normality.

'It went well today, don't you think?'

I wonder for a moment whether Sandra means the meeting with Dan's superior or if she means arranging a day out with Mum. But then I suppose it has. It's definitely a step forward anyway. I just hope that I don't spend the next few days retracing my steps.

Chapter Ten

I've become used to having personal tutors down the years with varying degrees of personality, and ability. The one I've got at the moment, Miss Baxter, has loads of personality, enough to keep The Others under control anyway, but the lessons don't progress fast enough for me.

In order to try and inject some kind of normality into our otherwise erratic lives, we have to attend a "school day" between normal school hours. We also get breaks and a dinner hour. I tend to go "home" for mine. Good work and behaviour is rewarded with some pointless treat like watching a DVD and bad behaviour is punished with extra "homework". They stop short of making us wear a uniform, but apart from that, it's the closest thing I've had to receiving a regular education for years.

Even though it's supposed to be compulsory for us to receive some form of schooling, despite our varying circumstances, it's very rare for all five of us to attend on the same day. And on those days, like today, the vast majority of time is spent trying to keep control. Honestly, I've had orgasms last longer than The Biter's attention span.

Today we're attempting to read _Romeo & Juliet_. Although we have to go at the pace of the slowest person, The Self-Harmer, and I swear that if she says "I don't get it", one more time then I'll do an impression of The Biter. I feel like saying to her, "It's Shakespeare, that's the whole point" but I don't want to sound like a clever little know it all. I'm by far the closest thing to a "swot" in this little school of delinquents so it's not a tag that I want to be marked with.

Miss Baxter writes on the interactive white board, oh yeah, we have all the top of the range equipment, some of the themes of "love" in the play at a moronic pace. It's all very good and well going through it in step-by-step parts like this if you just want to get an overview of certain parts of the play, but I'd like to be tested to see just how much of it I can decipher and how good at English I am compared with a "normal" teenager.

Because the lessons are a bit slow then I'd rather use the dinnertime to go through things in more detail. However, this is where personality over teaching ability comes into play with Miss Baxter because she'd rather be "entertaining" The Others outside in the recreation of their natural habitat.

I did ask her once, and she stayed inside for all of ten minutes until The Alcoholic questioned her "coolness", or something important like that, and off she went outside to play. Now I just slide off unnoticed to my room and read a book or talk to Sandra if she's working that day.

'Have you ever been in love Miss?' The Psychotic asks when she's finished writing down some examples of Romeo's attraction towards Juliet. We all know the answer but Miss Baxter still feels the need to remind us.

'I suppose you could say I'm in love now, otherwise I wouldn't be getting married next year.'

Miss Baxter's not exactly shy about telling us how smitten she is with her fiancée. She's nearly 30 and has started filling out a bit but she's always glad to tell us how she's got everything in place in her life how she planned it. Personally, I find it a bit patronising but The Others seem to find it fascinating.

'Okay, are we ready to move on to the next stanza?' Miss Baxter asks.

'Nooo,' squeals The Self-Harmer, as she shakes her arm up and down as if that proves she's been trying so hard all her muscles are on the verge of breaking down because of all the work.

'Okay, you can have two more minutes,' Miss Baxter says, as I let out a deep breath in frustration. Miss Baxter gives me a look, her way of asking me if there's a problem, but I'm not in the mood for complaining. It wouldn't do me any good because there's no way that they'd be able to find a decent teacher willing to come and work in place like this because they'd all have jobs in a proper school.

I somehow manage to get through the rest of the school day without causing any harm to myself, or anybody else, so I'm free to retreat to my bedroom. Whilst I'm going through a text updating session with Jack there's a knock on my bedroom door. Because it's around about the same time that I received the call yesterday from Mum I let myself think that it could be her again so I get up and answer the door.

Unfortunately, it's Mrs Robinson standing on the other side so there's no way that there'd be a call for me, Mrs Robinson isn't clever enough to deal with new fangled technology.

'I've got some papers to go through with you,' Mrs Robinson says.

I wonder what for but I'm too pre-occupied with Mrs Robinson just barging into my room to have time to question what about. When she's made an adequate enough space for herself on the edge of my bed, she tells me it's all about the process for when I go out to see Mum tomorrow.

Basically, there are some forms that cover Mrs Robinson's back tomorrow in case something goes wrong and Mum tries to abscond with me. I feel like reminding her that Mum's only got 9 days until she's due to be released so she's hardly likely to try to do something like that, but Mrs Robinson doesn't look like she's got to mental capacity to process something like that. She's just got a siren blazing in her head screaming "risk". If something goes wrong then she's in danger of losing everything that she's arse licked her way through for the past 30 years.

I look through the various risk assessments that have been completed. Mrs Robinson has kindly granted me permission to leave the premises for 3 hours provided that Sandra is in my care the whole time. We're only allowed to visit a designated cafe in town and Sandra must contact Mrs Robinson upon arrival at the cafe. When we're about to leave, Sandra should also let her know if the meeting was a success and what our expected return time will be.

I still try to kid myself that I don't live in a prison but it's times like this when it's hard to compare living here to anything else. It doesn't really bother me because things could be worse, but it does make me wonder if my life will ever be my own and if I'll ever truly be free. That's why I want to try and get some GCSEs. Then at least I'll be able to attempt to look for a job because the only way I'm ever going to get any peace in life is if I conform like the rest of the drones and go to work in a dead end job that painfully eats away at my soul.

'Do you understand all of this?' Mrs Robinson asks.

'Some of it,' I reply, seeing if she'll fail to pick up on my sarcasm and waste her time going through it all with me.

'Well, I'm sure that I can get Sandra to explain it when she arrives tomorrow morning.'

'If you could do please.'

Mrs Robinson tilts her head sideways and nods it back and forth like she's about to peck at me. I wait for her to say something, to see if she's going to pull me up on my insolence, but she just shuffles her papers into a neat pile and tells me that she'll leave me to it.

Before I've even had a chance to sit down on my bed and find my place in my book, Kate lets herself into my room. I don't touch myself in front of her any more. Sandra had a word with her about it one day. I found that I was just able to stop simply by telling Kate when she was annoying me and that I wanted her to go.

Looking back at it now, I feel really embarrassed about what I used to do to myself. Through Sandra, I've managed to let Kate know I think that her time when she's my Key Worker would be better spent allowing me to focus on certain tasks that will help me when I eventually leave her. So today Kate's dragged the ironing board in with her.

Even though she's already told me twice how to use the iron, Kate insists on going through the various settings with me. It's like she's finally found a part of her job that she's actually good at so she's going to utilise it as much as possible to justify her wage.

Going through stuff like this makes me feel like one of those orphaned chimpanzees you see on television that have to be taught by zoo keepers how to behave as a primate because their mother's have been shot by poachers. At least they spare me the indignity of having to wear a nappy.

Ironing is about as fun as waiting for The Psychotic to finish writing a sentence but it's one of the "life skills" that I have to learn for myself. There's no point in my mental state getting to the point where I can fend for myself without having my every need catered for if I'm unable to perform simple tasks like ironing.

Kate asks me if I've ever been interested in learning to sew but I think that I'll take up that lesson when I actually need it. I get myself set-up with the ironing board and Kate sort of gets the hint that I can manage it myself and leaves me alone. After all, I want the satisfaction of knowing that I ironed the clothes I'll wear to see Mum tomorrow all by myself.

Chapter Eleven

Even though it's going to be Sandra who takes me out today, it's Kate who's fussing around me all morning. Putting me on edge and making me stress out over something that has enough chance of going wrong as it is. I think about the amount of "procedure" that I've had to go through just to get permission to be officially allowed out for 3 hours so it must be a lot worse for Mum with her circumstances. Surely they're not going to have her chained to the prison guard? That would be so embarrassing, for everyone concerned.

I eat the breakfast that Kate's brought in for me but I consider not eating too much of it in case I'm not hungry later on. But then knowing me I'll be too nervous to eat after so it won't really matter. Another of the life skills and routines that I'm keen on getting into my life is to do my own washing up. Although washing a few plates in the sink in my en-suite bathroom doesn't really amount to much, it's still a start. When Kate made the joke that I could always do the washing up in the staff room I just ignored her. When Sandra made it, I laughed, slightly.

It's times like this, when I'm just sat waiting for time to tick on by, that I realise how little I've got going on in my life. If a normal person were arranging to meet someone for lunch then they'd have things to do in the morning. Shopping to do. Washing to do. Cleaning to do. But I get all of that done for me.

So does it really help me? Well, sometimes it's nice to take advantage of it because everyone has one of those days when they don't want to do anything expect mong out and stare blankly at the T.V. But other times it sort of makes me feel incapable. It's almost like they don't trust that I'm able to look after myself.

Because of this, when the time to make the decision of where I should be moved on to finally comes, they can use the fact that I'm practically waited on hand and foot as proof that I'm not ready to move out of specialist care, especially with someone who's just been released from prison.

I know I keep on going over this time and time again but it really is important to me. I don't want to stay in the care system for a day longer than necessary. I know that bad things have happened to me in the past, and I've fallen into the hands of people who've exploited my vulnerability, but I'm not that same person any more.

I've now got some structure in my life. Some focus. Some things that I actually look forward to. Text messages from Jack. Morning hugs from Sandra. I even look forward to being given some homework to do from Miss Baxter because it makes me feel like I'm doing something with my evenings, rather than wallowing in self-pity.

I might well be one of life's victims but that doesn't mean that I should let it control my life. I've got more than enough excuses to justify being addicted to anti-depressants and spending my whole life on benefits, but I don't want to live like that. I've not got any big plan of what I'm going to do with my life yet, but I know that I'm not going to let it be totally ruined.

For once Sandra seems satisfied with the choice of clothes that I've made, or maybe she's learnt that I don't cope well with people trying to tell me what to wear, when she enters my room. I don't have the best of choices as it is. I have been taken out shopping in the past but it was never a good experience. At least one of The Others would be dragged along as well and I was more bothered that people would be able to tell that we were "kids in care".

And yes, I am ashamed at being stigmatised with that tag. Wouldn't you be? It's also one of the things I'm most worried about today. I'm sure that we're going to stand out too much. There's going to be me and at least three adult women sat in a little cafe. That's not normal. How many 16 year-old girls do you see who pop out for tea and gossip with her mum and friends? But it's something that Mum wanted to do. She's going to get another mini-taste of freedom today so I'm going to put myself out for someone else for a change.

'How are we going to get there?' I ask Sandra.

'We'll go in my car.'

'Will they pay your petrol money?'

'The money's not important.'

'What else did you have planned today?'

'Nothing that can't wait until next week.'

Sandra's normally very candid about her private life. She'll tell me the odd fact about herself every now and again but she never goes into much detail. She's the exact opposite of Gillian. I think that's why I like her so much. You sort of have to learn about Sandra as you go along.

When I first met Sandra, I thought that she was just another of the bumbling middle-aged idiots who seem to find their way into this industry. On her first day, she didn't really do anything to impress me, but she slowly revealed her true self and she's just what I needed.

After double checking that she's got the all important relevant paperwork with her, Sandra announces that it's time to go. I'm not as nervous as I was the other day but today's meeting is a big step-forward. Mum's due to be released in just over a week so it's important that we stop being virtual strangers around each other as soon as possible, otherwise our relationship isn't going to work.

Mrs Robinson comes out into the car park to wish us good luck. She looks more nervous than I do but if today goes wrong then she's the one who's got the questions to answer. Not that anything is going to go wrong. After all, I've got Sandra by my side.

Chapter Twelve

We arrived at the cafe a little early, but ten minutes after the appointed arrival time and there's still no sign of Mum. I ask Sandra if she's got anyway of contacting Mum. She says she hasn't but that Mrs Robinson confirmed that she'd had notification Mum had set off so she must be stuck in traffic. Plus, she's not familiar with this town so unless whoever Mum is with knows where they're going then they might have trouble finding us.

It feels weird being out and about. I feel like I stand out. Not because I look young. I look older than most of the uneducated teenage delinquents who've got no chance of ever finding a job they like so they have to spend their time wondering around shopping centres and deluding themselves that they're hard. But it feels weird being out because I sort of have a purpose today. A reason for being out.

When my impression of being a whining teenager is realistic enough, Sandra agrees to phone up Mrs Robinson to see if she's had notification that Mum's changed her mind on the way and has gone back to her prison cell. Just as Sandra starts talking to Mrs Robinson I notice Mum approaching us across the road, but I don't say anything. I let Sandra go through all the rigmarole of talking to Mrs Robinson until she notices Mum standing over her.

'Sorry we're late,' Mum says, 'got a little bit lost.'

Mum looks a little bit flustered, like she's been worried that I'd have been concerned that she wouldn't be coming. Thankfully she's not in handcuffs today but the same prison guard is with her. There's also two male prison officers who are trying to keep as low a profile as possible, but it's obvious who they are and what they're here for. Well, it's obvious to me. Although I don't think everyone else in the cafe is as perceptive as me.

'I wanted to take a detour as well,' Mum says, 'past the house I'll be moving into. It doesn't look much from the outside but a home is what you make of it on the inside.'

Sandra offers Mum her help if she needs anything whilst she's getting to grips with the local area. I sit listening to every word but I don't stick my nose in. Mum's doing her best to turn every negative into a positive but crucially she's not mentioned anything about me living there or even visiting.

I want to ask Mum what area the house is in but a waitress comes over to take our order. None of us, apart from the prison guard, have even looked at the menu so it takes us ages to order. The waitress does her best to smile and look patient with us but I can tell that this is a part of her job she hates.

I look at the waitress and try to work out what kind of a life she's had. She's probably around my age and looks like she could be intelligent but doing school work or exams has never been a priority of hers. When it comes to ordering I just have the same as Sandra because I always seem to like what she brings in for me to eat. However, Mum gives me a look like she's slightly jealous and wishes that it was her that I was copying.

The waitress comes back with our drinks and some cutlery and I can't help but wonder how she'd have survived if she'd have lived my life. I also wonder if I'd have ended up doing something normal like working as a waitress if Gavin had never of walked into Mum's life. But there's no point in thinking about things like that. Nothing is going to change it.

'You're quiet today,' Mum says to me.

'Sorry. Where abouts is your new house?'

Thankfully Mum says that it on the opposite side of town to where Adam and his "friends" live so that makes me feel a little bit easier about the place.

'Has the house been decorated?' Sandra asks Mum.

'I've asked for plain paper to be put up so I can paint it whatever colour I want.'

'See,' Sandra says to me, nudging me in the side, 'you'll have to get Kate to give you some painting lessons so that you can paint your own room.'

I try to laugh at Sandra's joke but I'm concentrating more on Mum's reaction. Thankfully she laughs and starts a story about the past.

'I was always pretty good at decorating. Do you remember Jennifer? Your granddad taught me. I'd just finished our old house when...,' she stops and looks away. 'Well, no point in dragging up the past.'

'No,' I say quietly, looking down at the table. I expected things to be easier today. I expected to be more relaxed and that I'd automatically know what to say. Instead, I'm looking at the clock on the wall and feeling thankful there's only around 45 minutes until Mum will have to go.

To break the silence Sandra asks Mum more about the course she has to go on when she is released to help her get back into work. That's another way in which I've ruined Mum's life. Although she was a single mum, I remember that she always worked. Even though it was only part-time, it was still far more than the stereotypical single mum that no doubt people are quick to assume that she would have been when they first heard about her.

So because of me Mum's got a massive gaping hole on her C.V. And not only that, she's going to have to spend her time in a room full of morons who've got to pretend that they're looking for a job otherwise they'll get their benefits stopped.

I saw a programme about it on T.V. once and I certainly wouldn't want to be forced into a situation like that. The day starts by being patronised by some middle-aged frump who stands in front of a flip-chart and writes down potential jobs types that people with their "skills" can apply for. And the second half of the day consists of being split into small groups to make cardboard buildings of a shopping centre and calling it "teamwork".

Mum seems like she's not exactly looking forward to the course but is resigned to the fact that it's something that she's got to do. After all, even though she might be about to be released from prison she's still at the mercy of others, like her parole officer, because without their help then she's going to find it very difficult on her own to get anyone to give her a chance.

My future situation is a little uncertain. Because I've started doing school work again then they've started to encourage me to look at the possibility of enrolling in a college. Although to me that just looks like I'd have to start again next September. The best solution for me would be to enrol in a college for this year but to receive a home tutor, someone better than Miss Baxter of course, then I could do the exams in the college, with all the other school drop outs and general thickos who couldn't pass their exams the first time, in the summer. I'm working on that prospect with Sandra from time to time but she says I've to put things like that on hold until after Adam and his "friends" trial.

The waitress brings our food over and I'm slightly disappointed with how bland my jacket potato with cheese and beans looks. I'll copy whatever Mum has next time as her sandwich is dripping with chicken, bacon and cheese. No one says anything as we eat our food but then I realise that today isn't about the conversation; it's about the situation. It's about doing something normal. It's about being able to go out in public without standing out. Not freaking out. It's all about Mum showing her prison guard that she's not a danger to the public any more and that she isn't going to be responsible for any more drowning children.

Mum asks me a few more questions. They're pretty basic, the sort of questions a Mum should know about her 16 year-old daughter, but then I haven't exactly made any attempt to keep her updated with my personal life over the past couple of years. And then the subject turns to the next couple of weeks.

'It's going to be strange for me moving into a new house in a new town on my own,' Mum says.

'I'll come and visit,' I say, more in hope then expectation, as Sandra says:

'You can do. But just during the day time at first. After all, we don't want to go putting too much pressure on Mrs Robinson and rushing her into making a decision on your future.'

Sandra's worked out that the best way to me to go along with her reasoning is to patronise someone like Mrs Robinson and imply that she's not up to her job. I don't know if she really believes that Mrs Robinson is an incompetent old biddy but I'm happy to go along with that reasoning.

The prison guard is the first one to finish her meal and very unsubtly calls the waitress over to ask for the bill. Sandra offers to pay her share but the prison guard says that she'll take care of it. This is the bit that I hate. The bit when I've to leave separately to Mum. I know that we're going to have to leave the cafe first, that's what was stated in one of Mrs Robinson's precious forms, because us being outside together in a busy street would be a potential security risk.

I wonder if I'm even allowed to hug Mum goodbye but I don't want to push my luck. A week ago I'd never have dared dream that I'd even get a birthday card from Mum; let alone that I'd be having lunch out with her in public and be making plans to visit her at her own home.

Mum keeps her long embracing goodbye low key and says that she'll call me. Sandra leads me out of the cafe and the two male prison guards acknowledge us as we walk past them. Sandra says 'Goodbye', to them but I just look away shyly and want to get away as soon as possible before somebody realises what has been going on right underneath their nose.

When we get stuck in traffic, Sandra says that I'm being quiet. I suppose I am but it's only because I feel like I can't be myself at the moment. I really did want to meet Mum today but it didn't feel right with the prison guard sat next to her and the other two mercenaries waiting for it to "kick-off".

'You did enjoy seeing your mum today, didn't you?'

'Of course. But it just felt weird.'

'It'll be better when she's got her own house. And I'll be there to support you. If you want me to of course.'

'Yeah, sure,' I mumble.

'You've just got to take things slowly. One day at a time. No one's expecting you get everything right first time.'

I want to ask Sandra what she means by that but the traffic has started moving again so she has to concentrate on driving. But at least I've got far more in my life than I had just a few weeks ago. Although how much of that I'm going to be allowed to keep to help turn my life around is another matter.

PART THREE

Chapter One

Mum's house smells of new carpets. The living room is very bare but I suppose it's a million times better than a prison cell. And Mum seems far more relaxed now that she hasn't got that excuse of a prison guard looking over her. Sandra gives Mum the present that she's brought along for her. The card says that it's from both of us but all I've done is sign the card.

'Thank you. I'd say that I'd put it with the rest of my housewarming presents but I can't.'

'Do you still have any contact with any of your old friends?' Sandra asks.

'No, but then I suppose seven years is a long time. People's lives change in that time. Children grow up. Relationships breakdown. People move areas.'

I feel sorry for Mum. This is the side of prison life that people don't hear about; the part when "freedom" comes. It was apparently in the public interest to sentence Mum to seven years in prison but because of it she's lost everything. But will it be the same for Adam and his "friends" when they get released from prison, if they get sent down in the first place? Probably not. No doubt they'll just go back to living their lives as normal; same job, same house, etc.

Mum gives us the grand tour of the house. It's pretty basic. Two bedrooms, a small bathroom, a living room and a kitchen, but compared to a prison cell it's the grandest of grand country houses. It's very similar to the house I lived in until I was 8, although that one was slightly bigger and had a small garden at the front and back, whilst here there's just a backyard.

The room which is going to, or may, be mine needs the most work of all doing. But all that has to wait. Mrs Robinson has made it perfectly clear that I won't be going anywhere until Adam and his "friends" trial is over. It's less than a week away so virtually everything that Dan, and whoever he brings in with him that day, says is about how I'm going to get through the court case.

Because I don't have to attend the court case in person then the best thing for me to do would be to carry on as normal. Especially as the trial is taking place in another town. However, even Sandra seems to have trouble understanding this. Everyone seems to think that I'm going to freak out when I see the case on the T.V. or if I read about it in the papers. I might do, but at least I'll be expecting it. It won't come as a total shock to me.

Adam and his "friends" pictures have already been published in the local paper so everyone knows who the suspects are. Well, all but one of them has had their pictures published. One identity is being kept a secret. Dan won't go into details as to why but he says it's because he doesn't want to jeopardise another case that is awaiting trial. It did shock me the first time I saw their pictures staring back at me, but only because it showed to me that everything that had been happening over the past few months had been real.

Mum doesn't ask me much about the trial but I know that Sandra keeps her updated on the most important parts. I know she's worried about it though because it's sort of like her life is still on hold until the trial is over and the aftermath has died down. But she's got her course to attend soon so hopefully everything will fall into place and she'll be in a job by the time the court case is over. Once Mum's got some money together then we can really start to make this place look like home.

I've heard that some of Jack's friends are planning a protest outside the court but Jack won't be attending himself. He says he's done his bit. He's helped to get awareness of the case out in the public conscious. Similar cases have come up in the past and fallen, or been pushed, under the public's radar. But that won't be allowed to happen this time.

I don't really know what the difference is this time. I mean if the police have been ignoring it for over a decade, like the evidence seems to suggests, then why the sudden change in mentality? But then this is just one case that is going before the courts and the outcome isn't guaranteed.

However, in a couple of weeks everyone in the country is going to know what a certain type of men have been allowed to get away with over the past ten years at least, and most probably for at least twenty or thirty years. Just adding together the number of people involved in the cases that are listed on Jack's friend's website, the figures start to become shocking.

It's been scores of men abusing hundreds of girls. And they're just the cases that have gone to court. No doubt there are countless more that never even made it to court and there could be thousands of girls who have been too afraid to come forward.

The more I've been allowed to understand what's been going on up and down the country the more I feel let down. Let down by the very people who should have been looking after me. And I don't just mean Gillian or Kate, to a lesser extent. It's all the Social Workers, psychiatrists and Key Workers who I've dealt with who must have dealt with hundreds of girls similar to me. On a balance of probability, some of them must have dealt with girls who've been abused by men like Adam and his "friends". But they've either turned a blind eye to it or, even worse, got some kind of perverse kick out of knowing that the girls who they've been caring for have been abused because they feel that they're better than them and that girls who are in care deserve everything which happens to them.

At the moment, I think there are still some people who don't believe that me and Lucy are telling the truth or, at the very least, are exaggerating everything to try and get some sympathy to cover up the fact that we're dirty little scrubbers. When Adam and his "friends" first went to court and pleaded "not guilty" to all the charges this only added weight to the politically correct brigade's argument.

However, Dan reminded me that none of our evidence has been given in court yet so Adam and his "friends" basically said "prove it", which mine and Lucy's statements will do. But all that's still to come. If I spend all my time worrying about that then I'll mess up my future.

Sandra says that she'll get going so I'm going to be left alone with Mum for the first time in 7 years. But only for an hour. It's like neither of us can be trusted properly.

It feels weird being sat in a room alone with Mum. It's not as if I feel like we're total strangers but something's missing. I don't think this house being so strange is helping but I can tell that Mum doesn't know what to say as well. So we just sit and silence and sort of stare at each other, awkwardly.

Eventually, Mum thinks of something to say:

'Have they told you what you've to do when the court case is on?'

'I don't think they've made their minds up. I just want to carry on as normal because there are very few people who know I'm involved so it's not like there's going to be any attention on me.'

I can tell that Mum's thinking "not like last time". The last time I tried to carry on as normal but it was as if everyone I came into contact with knew I was involved. Not even Miss Baxter knows what I've been through in the past 12 months or so.

She even brought a newspaper in once about the trial because she said she wanted to make us aware of what was going on out in the world. I didn't mention anything to Sandra, or Mrs Robinson, because Miss Baxter was only doing what she thought was right. And even when The Others read the article, they didn't twig that I might be involved in any way. So if the people who I've lived with for over a year couldn't tell that I've been a "Cheap White Meat" victim then, once the trial is over, I can put it all behind me and pretend that it never happened.

Mum asks me about The Others but I don't really know what to say about them. I only know them because I'm unfortunate enough to live in the same situation as them and it's not like I need some little "support group" to keep me going.

'I tried to keep my head down when I was doing time. But not everyone wants to let you get away with that.'

I'm definitely not comfortable with Mum talking about her prison sentence so I'm glad when she changes the subject to something more positive:

'If you want to have a housewarming you can,' Mum says.

'It not really a party. I just thought it might be nice. I don't really get to go many places without there being someone who I don't like checking up and me and secretly hoping that I do something stupid.'

'Not everyone who works in the care sector is like that, you know Jennifer,' Mum tries to reason.

I fix her a steady stare and say, 'Most of them are. Otherwise, why do they work in the care sector?'

'So what are you going to be so successful at?' Mum teases.

'Dunno.'

'Sometimes you've just got to take whichever job comes along, whether you like it or not. I know that's what I'll have to do. No matter what I want to do for a living I know that the only job I'm likely to be offered is either working in a shop, or a factory, on the minimum wage.'

Mmm, Mum might be right, but I don't want to be like that. Just plodding along because it's what is expected of you. What the "done" thing is. And maybe if I don't want that then maybe I don't want this, whatever _this_ is.

What is wrong with me? I've done nothing but look forward to this moment for the past week or so, thinking that it would make everything okay, but now that it's here I can't wait for Sandra to return so that I can go back to my version of "normality". Has the care system finally broken me just when an escape route is finally in sight?

Mum goes to open the door to Sandra. When she enters the living room, Sandra can tell straight away that there's something wrong with me. That I'm freaking out. She takes Mum into the hallway and I can hear them talking about me. Deciding between themselves what they're going to do with me even though I'm 16 and should be making those choices myself.

I stand up and go into the kitchen. Before I know it, I'm through the backdoor and making my way through the yard, taking care to avoid the rubble so that I don't trip and break my neck.

Chapter Two

Almost instantly, my mobile starts ringing. I don't even bother to check who it is. I don't want to speak to anyone right now. I just need some time alone. To make _my_ _own_ choices for a change.

I've no idea where I'm going and I'm not familiar with this part of town. But I take care to avoid the main roads because that will make it harder for them to find me. I don't know why I'm doing this but I know that I can't take the pressure of living in goldfish bowl any more, with everyone else deciding what's best for me.

I automatically take my mobile out of my pocket without thinking when I want to know the time. I've already got three missed calls. Two from Sandra and one from Mum. No doubt there's a couple of voicemails waiting for me and when I don't respond to them the text messages will start.

Running away on the spare of the moment isn't the best idea I've ever had. If I was going to do it then I should have done it months ago, long before _they_ started sticking their noses in and Jack somehow discovered me. He's never properly explained how he found out where I was living. He's said that Lucy gave him the idea that I might have been "involved" but that still doesn't explain it. He's crafty. Very crafty. Good at getting under your skin without you knowing it and then getting what he wants from you.

But Jack's not the one to run to tonight. He knows far too much about me. He'd only want to try and "help" me to sort it all out. But I don't want "help" and I don't want to "sort it all out". I just want to forget about it. Just to ignore it.

I want more people like Miss Baxter in my life who can openly discuss Adam and his "friends" trial with me without worrying that it's going to upset me. But that would mean finding people who know absolutely nothing about me.

That's why I liked being Rosie. Even when I was being used and abused. At least Rosie didn't live in care. At least Rosie didn't have a mum in prison. At least Rosie was doing something for herself. But deep down I knew that "Rosie" could be snatched away from me at any point.

It's often made me wonder from Dan's first interview about why he questioned me if I was involved at introducing other girls to Adam and his "friends". Younger girls. Some fresher "Cheap White Meat". More tender. Easier to exploit. I know Lucy was asked the same question so they must suspect that some girls do graduate from being just personally used and abused to specially selecting the latest cuts of "Cheap White Meat", taking a fee for their troubles.

Because I now need to know something, I phone Jack up and ask him all about that. He'll be on his break because he's working until 8 pm tonight. I'm not his stalker. He told me his shift pattern once and I've got a pretty good memory, when I don't want it to be selective.

When Jack answers I can tell that he hasn't been informed that I've gone "missing", but then he could be trying to blag it so that I give some information way. He's crafty enough and I wouldn't put it past him.

'What are you on about?' he asks.

'Do you know of any older girls who are suspected of passing on younger girls?'

'Not personally. Why do you want to know?'

'Because it bothers me. It bothers me how someone could stoop so low that they'd subject some innocent girl to sexual abuse for a few measly quid for themselves.'

'You okay? Where are you?'

I think about saying that I'm in my bedroom but he'd be able to hear the traffic going past.

'I've just gone for a walk. I needed to think.'

'How did things go with your Mum?'

'Not good.'

Jack pauses. Sometimes he doesn't have all the answers and doesn't instinctively know what to say.

'Do you want me to ask around if anyone knows of any older girls have been involved in passing girls on?'

'Please. Would the police have given them the same protection as Adam and his "friends" and covered it up?'

'Of course,' Jack laughs, like they'd become "one of them".

'Tell me what you find out. I've got to go, my battery's going,' I lie.

'Okay, I'll see you soon.'

I don't disconnect the call but wait for Jack to hang up, just in case he says something on the line that I can pick up on. But Jack's not like that. I really should cut him some slack the next time I decide to run away in a hissy fit.

Straight away a notification that I've had two more missed calls and one text message comes through. But I'm still not ready to call out for help and to be taken back to "safety". I need to work out exactly where I'm going in my life.

Whilst I know that I don't want the fact I've spent the last seven years in care to affect me for the rest of my life, everything that I've ever read and heard about people who've grown up in care hasn't been positive. I remember reading once about some guy who'd been convicted of molesting a young boy. He gave part of his defence for doing because he was abused himself. Almost as if it was a cycle of abuse that would continue down the generations.

So I've been a victim of sexual abuse as a child. Does that mean that somewhere deep inside me I've got some desire to make sure that another child has to experience what I did? I hope not. But I also thought that I was coping with everything. However, that doesn't seem to be the case.

I keep on wondering the streets. It's coming up to four o'clock so the schools have finished. But the number of teenage girls walking the streets on their own is unbelievable. Okay, they're not in any danger from me but anybody could be driving past or keeping a look out from their house. Looking for that little tell tale sign of vulnerability or naivety.

Some girl, who is about 14, is walking towards me, listening to her _iPod_. Even though I know for a fact that girls at her school can wear trousers, she wears a skirt. Simply because she's got the legs for it. Bitch. And I'm sure that if I've noticed that she's pretty cute then every bloke who's passed her since she's been let loose from school will have noticed too.

The girl does her best to ignore me when we pass each other. It's almost as if she lives in a totally different world to me and that I'm not even real. Almost as if she lives in a world where child sex abuse happens, but to a totally different type of person.

So am I jealous? Jealous that this girl doesn't seem to have a care in the world. Will sail through school. Breeze through college. And float through university without the need for Social Workers, doctors and psychiatrists deciding what she should and shouldn't be doing. Of course I am. I'm human after all.

But getting jealous and resentful of people who seemingly have it all won't help me. Neither will seeking out to hurt someone weaker than me so that they can feel the pain that I've gone through. I don't know what's put these thoughts in my head, but I want them to go away.

My mobile starts ringing again and I see that it's Jack. I answer it, expecting an answer to the little task I set him, but instead he says:

'Call Sandra.'

That's it. No, "I hope you're okay." Or, "Is there anything I can do." Not even a, "I understand what you're going through." He's just straight to the point. And he's right as usual. Although I'm not going to give him any satisfaction by telling him that.

'I can't.'

'Yes you can. You like Sandra. She's done so much for you. Without her then you wouldn't even be allowed to see your mum.'

'Stop making me feel guilty.'

I stop walking and sit down on a wall. When I realise that I'm totally lost I start crying. Now I look vulnerable and an easy target. Anyone who'd been watching me would know that now was the time to strike and offer me their help.

'You need to be told sometimes. Where are you?'

'Dunno.'

'Stop messing around.'

'I'm not. I just started walking. I've never been in this area before.'

'So you're lost?'

'No.'

'So you can find your way back to your mum's?'

'No.'

Jack pauses. Instead of getting frustrated and shouting at me he goes for the silent option. Using his patience. The patience that got through my defences in the first place.

'Can you come and find me?'

'I'm at work until 8 pm.'

I knew that was the answer but I wanted to test him, just to see what he'd say.

'Just phone Sandra and they'll send someone down to find you.'

He means a cop car. They'll have all available units searching for the erratic Resource Consumer whose wasting taxpayer's money once again.

'Stop putting yourself down Jen.'

Jack never calls me by my name. Not many people do. Well, I'm just a number to most. I don't know why people don't use my name more. Maybe I don't deserve a normal name like "Jennifer". Maybe they know someone else called "Jennifer" and don't want to ruin the name by associating it with me. Of course you get the odd idiot who asks me what I prefer, "Jen, Jenny or Jennifer," they say, before laughing pointlessly like they've just come out with something original.

'Come and find me,' I say once again.

'You know I can't.'

I can tell that he's pacing up and down and seriously considering it.

'I've got a man following me.'

'No you haven't.'

'Well, I've got a girl following me.'

'Tell me more.'

'Stop it. You'll make me laugh. This isn't funny,' I say, as I automatically laugh to try to wipe away the tears that are rolling down my face.

'Stop messing about then.'

'I just want it over with.'

'It will be soon.'

'Promise?'

Jack doesn't respond. He doesn't want to make me a promise that he can't keep. He doesn't know what's going to happen in the future as much as I don't. Jack's put himself in a very risky situation by getting involved. If Adam and his "friends" get acquitted then Jack could be revealed as the man who tried to slur the precious community's name. He'd probably lose his job over it.

'If you want it to be over soon, deep down, then it will be.'

I don't know what he means by that, so I change the subject slightly and ask him, 'Why me?'

'Because you're the girl who was unfortunate enough for it to happen to. That Adam and his lot have been getting away with it for years but for some reason everyone was too scared to do anything about it. Listen, I've got to go back to work. Stop being an arse and just phone Sandra up.'

And he just hangs up. Rude. But sometimes that's the way to deal with me. By telling it to me straight, rather than faffing about. So because Jack know how to deal with me properly, I call Sandra's mobile.

'I'm coming to get you,' she says before I've even had a chance to speak.

'I don't know where I am.'

'It doesn't matter. I'll find you.'

Chapter Three

Mrs Robinson makes me sit in the naughty chair whilst she looks through her paperwork and decides what to do with me.

'I didn't expect this kind of behaviour from you when you're in such a critical stage of your development. From the other one maybe, but not you.'

If she means Lucy then why can't she just say her name instead of referring to her as "the other one"? And I really don't see the big deal in this. All I did was go for a walk for a while. But this is the exact reason why I did it because I wanted to get away from all this paperwork and bullshit talk.

'You know that your court trial starts in less than a week?'

Of course I know it's in less than a week. I do have some concept on how time works. And it's not _my_ trial. It's Adam and his "friends" trial. I'm just a witness for the prosecution. If I hadn't have agreed to give evidence then the trial would still go ahead. It's just that without my evidence then the chances of any convictions would be remote.

But sometimes there's no point in trying to have a conversation with Mrs Robinson. She doesn't have the brain capacity to listen and consider someone else's point of view. She can only read what written in front of her and bundle her way through it as best she can.

'It doesn't look good for everyone concerned if you keep going missing like this.'

What she means is that it doesn't look good for her. She's the one who's found herself in charge of me and it's going to be her in the spotlight in a weeks time, just as much as Adam and his "friends" will be. When it's all made public about what's been allowed to happen to me then she's going to be the one who's going to have to give an explanation. No doubt she's already working on her excuses now, laden with clichés about how she did the best for me in very difficult circumstances, but very subtly laying the blame at my feet.

'Okay, I've decided what I'm going to do with you.'

That's very decisive of you Mrs Robinson. Come on then, what's my punishment going to be?

'I think it's best that until the trial starts that you stay here, unless there's any urgent appointments you need to attend.'

Why can't she just say that I'm grounded for a week?

'Can I visit Mum?'

'She can visit you here. But under supervision.'

'Whatev,' I say, and stand up.

'Wait,' Mrs Robinson says, 'I need you to sign this.'

She pushes a piece of paper into my hand. It basically outlines what happened yesterday, how they dealt with it and what they're going to do to prevent it happening again. Mrs Robinson stands poised with a pen in her hand whilst I take my time, reading it slowly on purpose.

Eventually I take the pen and sign the paper as " _Child X"_.

'Can I go now?'

'Yes. That will be all.' She says without bothering to check what I've signed the paper as.

I leave Mrs Robinson's office, without bothering to close the door behind me, and start striding towards my room. I see Kate is walking towards me and I can tell that she wants to speak to me, but I just blank her and keep on walking.

By the time I've made it to my room Kate is right behind me.

'Are you going into school today?'

'Bit late, isn't it?'

'What did Mrs Robinson say to you?'

'Do your job and read the paperwork.'

'There's no need to be like that.'

'Is there not?' I say, as I barge past Kate on my way out of my room.

I can't work out Miss Baxter's reaction towards me when I stroll into the classroom. There's only The Self-Harmer and The Biter who've bothered to turn up today and they're both busy working on their art projects. One of the subjects I hate and think is a waste of time.

'You okay?' Miss Baxter asks, like the mood I'm in is written all over my face.

I shrug my shoulders and sit down at a table on my own. Miss Baxter comes over and sits down next to me.

'Is there anything you want to talk about?'

'Of course not.'

'Right. As you can see, the girls are working on their art projects. We can work on _Romeo & Juliet_ if you like?'

I give Miss Baxter a look that she picks up on straight away.

'Not the right time, eh?'

I don't bother responding.

'Is there anything else you want to do? It'd be a shame if you wasted the whole day.'

Would it though? Would it really matter if I spent the whole day just sitting here staring at the graffiti that's been scrawled into the desks by the past generations of nutcases.

'We were going to go out for lunch. My treat.'

'I'm grounded.'

This makes The Biter sit-up to attention and give me the biggest grin.

'No way? What you get caught doing, sucking that Jack's little dick?'

'Victoria,' Miss Baxter says, that's enough.

'I'm staying here though Miss, if _she's_ going, so it's your choice,' The Biter says in retaliation.

'I'm not in the mood anyway,' I say.

'Have a think about it anyway,' Miss Baxter says as she goes back to her desk and checks her mobile.

The Biter gives me another snide little look but I don't react to her. Instead I just and stare at the wall for a bit. When that gets boring I stand up and walk out of the classroom without saying anything.

Chapter Four

I feel like I've gone backwards during the past few days. Back to the dark days where I wouldn't speak to anybody and would spend all my time on my own. Kate's shown that she hasn't learnt anything from those days, even after working alongside Sandra for the past couple of months, and has spent the minimum amount of time possible with me without making any genuine attempt to understand what is wrong.

But then I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't know why I freaked out the first time I was left alone with Mum, even though I knew that Sandra was coming to collect me. My so-called psychologist tried to put some words into my mouth to get me to explain how I was feeling but she soon gave up.

So as usual, I'm left with just Sandra to try and make everything okay for me. But she should have been here a couple of hours ago. Sandra seemed pretty annoyed when she finally found me the other day so I wouldn't blame her if she'd decided to abandon me in my hour of need.

However, just when I've started to think of ways I'm going to survive on my own, Sandra strolls in with the biggest plate of food I've ever seen.

'Even though you don't deserve it I can't let you starve.'

Sandra passes the plate over to me and I dive into it straight away because I've all of a sudden remembered how hungry I am.

'A little thanks wouldn't go a miss.'

I look up at Sandra but don't say anything, not because I'm being ignorant, but because I'm trying to be polite. I indicate that I've got a mouthful of food and I suddenly have difficulty in trying to swallow without it making me gag. Instead of saying that she understands, Sandra sits down and patiently waits for me to stop choking.

'Thank you,' I finally mutter, covering my mouth so that I don't spit any food out.

'That's a start.'

I put my knife and fork down but Sandra says that I've to eat first. Then she's going to interrogate me over my behaviour lately. Having someone watch you eat doesn't half make you feel self-conscious but I'm just glad that Sandra still cares enough to keep on treating me right. She goes over to my desk and checks through the exercise books that I use for Miss Baxter's lessons.

'You haven't even done any school work.'

I put down my knife and fork and push my plate along my bed.

'I've not been in the mood.'

'We all have to do things when we don't want to. You can't decide whether you're going to spend your day living like an adult depending on what kind of mood you're in.'

I know there's no point in trying to argue with Sandra. She makes people far who are far more clever than me look stupid.

'Would it help if I said I was "sorry"?'

'Who for, yourself?'

I look down at the floor because she's making me feel so selfish.

'Have you even tried to contact your mum?'

I haven't. But then I've sort of been waiting for her to contact me. I didn't really plan any of this and it's not exactly easy to snap out of it when someone points out that I'm being a spoilt little brat. That's the problem with my situation at the moment. There's so many people involved with me but only one of them is truly capable of getting me to listen and act sensibly.

'Right, regardless of what you've been getting up to this week we can't have you going back to the way things were. Whilst the trial is on I'll be working virtually everyday.'

'Why?'

'Because otherwise you'll freak out.'

Will I? I know the trial's only days away now but at least I know it's coming so it's hardly going to be a shock to me. And it's not going to be like the last time. The last time my life was on hold because I didn't know whether I was going to have a mum in my life at the end of it. This time my life is on hold because come the end of it I can put it all behind me and start living my life as an adult, regardless of the outcome.

'Have you spoke to Jack or Lucy recently?'

I shake my head.

'Do you not think it'd be a good idea to call them? See what's been happening.'

I stand up and start looking for my mobile, 'Should I call Jack now?'

'No. We've got things to do first.'

I look at Sandra, trying to work out what she can mean by that, but she's giving nothing away. I pick up my plate; suddenly not feeling hungry enough to eat what's left, and scrape the remains into the bin before washing the plate in the sink. All the while Sandra stays silent, watching my every move like she knows that her stare is making me feel uncomfortable.

'After you,' she says, as she holds my bedroom door open.

Chapter Five

I should have guessed that it would be Mum who'd be waiting for me in the Interrogation Zone. She's had her hair done and looks about five years younger than she did when I last saw her.

'Afternoon wonderer,' she chuckles, but I don't chuckle back.

Mum's sat in what has soon become her usual spot on the sofa and it's certainly a lot better now that she hasn't got that excuse of a prison guard standing over the door. I look at Sandra who tells me to sit down, before sitting down herself on the sofa next to Mum.

Sandra starts fiddling about with some paperwork that she's brought in with her but it soon becomes clear that she's not going to start speaking soon. I smile at Mum. She smiles back at me but she doesn't speak either.

'What's wrong?' I ask.

'We could ask you the same question,' Sandra replies.

'I'm okay. I've just had a bad couple of days.'

'I know I've been off for a few days but there's no way that Mrs Robinson's even going to sanction you visiting your mum, let alone staying over, after you've behaved the way you have done with other members of staff recently.'

'It's not my fault Kate doesn't know how to look after me.'

'Do you know how I felt when you ran off?' Mum asks.

I shrug my shoulders. I know that she cares. But I also know she's scared that she doesn't know how to deal with me, and the past week or so has just proved that.

'I did have a plan in place to put a proposal forward to Mrs Robinson about you staying over with your mum whilst the trial was on. Would you have run off if you knew that was the case?'

'Probably not. But I didn't exactly run off. Well, not properly.'

'How do you mean?' Sandra asks, staring me straight in the eye in the way that makes everybody crumble. 'Did you have permission to go off on your own? Did you tell anyone where you were going? Did you answer your mobile when we called? Did you reply to the voicemails that we left? Did you reply to the text messages that we sent?'

'No,' I reply, looking at the floor.

'Well, you "ran off" then. In fact, you only bothered to get in contact when you ended up getting lost and wanted someone to find you and make everything okay for you.'

'That's not true,' I say.

'Tell me the truth then,' Sandra replies.

But I don't have anything to say. I've done it now. I've been away unsupervised for far longer than that in the past, and got up to things during that time that put me in a lot more danger, but I've got a feeling that that little "walk around the block" will hinder me for a long time.

'What happens now then?' I ask.

'We'll have to take it one day at a time. There's no point in making plans for the weekend when we don't know what frame of mind you're going to be in tomorrow.'

'I'm okay now. Now that you're here. Both of you.'

'Jennifer,' Sandra starts, letting me know that she wants me to listen very carefully to her. 'I don't know what you keep telling yourself but for the past two years you've been going through a breakdown of sorts. There's doctors who could give your condition all the fancy names under the sun but that wouldn't help you understand it any better. But what it basically means is that sometimes you do stupid things. It's like a part of your brain switches off. And the problems come when you can't recognise that what you're doing is stupid. So you invent little ways of dealing with it. Like not talking. Like only eating certain foods. Like having practically no close relationships with anybody and then leaching on to people who you think understand you.'

I want to wipe the tears away that are falling down my face but I've got a feeling that if I lean over towards the box of tissues that Sandra will accuse me of not listening to her. I know that I'm mentally ill. It's just I've sort of lost control over which parts of my illness I've got no control over and which parts I'm faking because it helps me get what I want.

'As hard as it is for you to hear you're a very vulnerable girl. And people have recognised that and taken advantage of you. You're always going to have it harder in life than everyone else, but if you keep on shutting people out, or acting like an arrogant little bitch with them, then you're not going to get anywhere.'

'Who've I acted like "an arrogant little bitch" with?'

'Mrs Robinson. The other day when she told you that you were grounded. In fact, your whole behaviour towards her is disgusting. You never make eye contact with her. Sometimes you won't even get up to open your bedroom door to her. You might think that things like that don't have an affect on people but they do. Mrs Robinson is the one person in your life who can get you everything you've ever wanted. But instead you treat her like some geriatric old fuddy-duddy who can't even look after herself, let alone anyone else.'

'So?'

'That attitudes got to stop. Otherwise when you leave here it won't be to live with your Mum. It'll be to somewhere far worse than this. You might have trouble bonding with the other girls who live here but you'd definitely struggle living with people with mental illness problems who are forty or fifty years older than you.'

'But I'm not ill.'

'Well start acting like it then. Next week everyone in the country is going to know about your story. It's going to be on the news and in all the papers. People will be talking about it at work. Out and about in public. At the moment we feel like you wouldn't be able to cope with that. I know that you've come a long way over the past couple of months but you're nowhere near the end.

And there's only you who can truly make yourself better. As long as you want to.

'You can claim all you want that Kate doesn't know how to do her job properly. That Mrs Robinson is out of touch and doesn't understand what it's like to be a teenage girl in your situation. You can whinge all you want about how if your psychologist were any good at her job then she wouldn't be working with you. You might have a point sometimes, but you're stuck with these people and unless you start to respect them then you're going nowhere.'

'Why am I the one being punished?'

'You're not being punished. You're just being dealt with the way that people feel is best for you. That Adam and his lot are in court next week. They'll get their punishment then. But the longer you sulk around feeling sorry for yourself then the longer you're going to think that you're being punished.'

This is the first time that Sandra's properly had a go at me. Told me exactly what she thinks about my behaviour. And it's not nice. I look over at Mum. She looks like she's stuck in the middle. On the one hand like she wants to leap over to me to give me a cuddle and tell me that everything will be okay. But on the other hand she knows that what I'm being told is for my own benefit and unless I listen to it then I'm going to ruin what slim chances I have in my life of defying the odds and making something of myself.

'Anyway, that's enough of me preaching at you today. Go to your room and get ready.'

'Where we going?'

'Out. You need some fresh air. It's not going to do you any good sat here.'

Chapter Six

I'm naive enough to think it's a coincidence to find Jack and Lucy sat in the cafe where Mum met us the other week.

'What are you doing here?' I ask them.

'See,' Lucy starts, 'I knew she wouldn't know that we'd be here. That's you paying for the drinks.'

'I pay for the drinks anyway,' Jack responds.

Sometimes they sound so much like a couple even though they insist they're "just friends". But is it really any of my business? Jack's about 10 years older than me. And maybe that's why Mum's had her hair done because she knew that she was going to meet Jack for the first time. Ew, that's disgusting. The thought of Mum with Jack. Even worse than the thought of him with Mrs Robinson. I wish I could have said that out loud, it could have counted as one of the two merks I still owe him. But then, no doubt Jack would have some response that would make everyone laugh to remind me that he's far more quick-witted and far too clever for me.

Sandra formally introduces Mum to Jack and Lucy and the same waitress from last week comes over to take our order. She's looking prettier today and Jack's not the only one who can't resist a sneaky look on her cleavage on show.

When the waitress finally leaves our table, Lucy's the first one to criticise her for flaunting herself. Sandra agrees with Lucy whilst Mum says that she used to dress like that when she was a teenager, which makes me feel slightly sick. I do hope that Mum's not going to be insisting on making up for the seven years of lost time in the boyfriend department. If only because it'd be embarrassing if she was better at pulling than me.

'Oh,' Jack says, like he's not really comfortable about being stuck at a table full of women all of a sudden, 'I looked into what you asked me the other day.'

I look at Jack confused as Lucy takes out a picture of a fat chavy girl with bad hair, bad skin and an all round bad attitude.

'Do you recognise her?'

I shake my head.

'You wouldn't do,' Jack says. 'She lives in another part of the country. But she's suspected of being a Cheap White Meat victim who then supplied other girls to get abused and got paid a tenner per girl.'

'Who'd do such a thing?' Mum asks.

Lucy shows Mum the picture and she says, 'Oh right, she looks a nasty piece of work.'

'She did get charged,' Jack says, 'but the case against her got dropped because the police said it wouldn't be in the public interest.'

I start to question that but Sandra suggests that we change the subject as it's not the most suitable topic to discuss out in public. But unless people talk about it then how is public opinion going to change? Okay, this girl was probably abused herself, but it doesn't make it okay that she then allowed other girls to be subjected to the same abuse.

The waitress comes back with our drinks and Jack isn't exactly in a hurry to look away when she leans forward over the table. When the waitress is out of earshot I say to Jack:

'Cool your tongue down on that,' passing him a can of Coke. 'Go and ask for her number if you like her that much.'

Jack starts to blush as Lucy, Mum and Sandra laugh at him.

'What was that for?' Jack asks me.

'I've owed you two merks for ages.'

'What for?'

'You questioned that I'd never had any money and you laughed at me for not knowing that your eyes have to acclimatise to the light when you first put on a pair of sunglasses.'

'Did I? When?'

'When I first met you.'

'And you've been waiting to get me back all this time? Was that the best you can do?'

'Actually,' Lucy jumps in, 'that was only one merk. The best is yet to come, isn't it?' she says, winking at me.

'Of course,' I say, trying my best to blag it.

'What does "merk" mean?' Mum asks.

I almost burst out laughing but then I remember that she has been in prison for seven years. Whilst I'm sure the prisoners had their own slang I doubt it involved many modern terms popularised by school kids.

'It means to insult someone,' Lucy says, like she's proud that she knows some general knowledge.

'Oh, we said, "talk to the hand" when I was younger. Do people still say that?'

'Of course not,' I snigger.

'But you've heard of it?' Mum asks.

'Only because I like watching the History Channel.'

'Okay, there's no need to show off in front of your friends.'

I look up at Sandra and she's grinning at me.

'What's up?' I ask.

'It's a pity Mrs Robinson isn't here.'

'Why?' I ask, taking a sip of my drink and sliding down in my chair.

'I'm sure that she'd be very impressed by you showing that you can function normally out in public.'

'That's because I'm with people I like. I understand what you were saying before but I can't go round arse-licking people who I think are total morons. Jack's the same aren't you?'

'Yup, but that's why I have to work in a shit job that I can't stand and have to put up with being told what to do by morons because I refuse to suck up to them and try to join their little gang.'

'It's the same anywhere,' Mum says. 'The crawlers are always the ones who get preferential treatment. Sometimes there's nothing you can do about it.'

'Well, I'm definitely not cutting Kate some slack.'

'Look Jennifer,' Sandra says, 'we're not expecting miracles from you but if you do show those little improvements then the sooner you'll be able to move in with your Mum. That's what you want, isn't it?'

I look up and Mum and she smiles at me. As I'm still not comfortable at being the centre of attention all the time I take the opportunity to change the subject when I notice the waitress coming over with our food. When the waitress asks us if there's anything else she can get us I say:

'Yeah, my friend really likes you and would like you're number.'

The waitress smiles, like she knows that it's part of her job to be flattered, and says to me, 'Well, unless you're friend is very similar to you then they probably won't be my type.'

I instantly go red and don't know where to look as the waitress disappears with a smile on her face. No one at the table really knows what to say as I turn to Mum and let her know:

'I'm not gay.'

'It's okay.'

'Not that there's anything wrong with being gay. If I had some friends then some of them might be gay.'

'Jennifer,' Mum says, putting her hand on mine, 'it's okay, stop worrying about it. Just eat your sandwich.'

After the plate full of food that Sandra brought in for me this morning, I'm not really up for tackling a chicken, bacon and cheese sandwich right now.

'Did you know she was a lesbian?' I ask Jack.

'Of course not. She might not be anything but she just said it because she gets asked for her number loads of times.'

'Oh,' I say, keeping my head down as I feel pretty stupid for trying to show off. But at least I'm out and about, trying to do something normal. The easy option would be to stay in my room all day. Claiming the fact that the trial was about to start on Monday was getting to me because I was sure that everyone would be judging me as it's about to be made public about what I got up to with Adam and his "friends".

I think everyone else around the table can tell that I'm not in a talking mood so they don't try and coax me out of my shell. Mum starts asking Lucy about her daughter and Lucy also tells her about the interview she's given about which is due to be aired on the news on Monday as part of the report about the trial. I don't know if I'm looking forward to seeing that or not. Dan did offer to show me a copy of it but I think that was because he was secretly hoping that if I saw Lucy's version then I'd feel more comfortable about making one of my own.

I do my best to try and eat my sandwich but I'm not in the mood. I feel like such an idiot for trying to show off and every time the waitress walks anywhere near our table I make a point of looking away as soon as possible.

'Just put it down to experience,' Jack says. 'Chatting up girls is never easy. You'll get better at it.'

That's two merks I owe you again Jack. And somehow, I will get you back.

Chapter Seven

Today started just the same as any Monday morning has over the past couple of months for me. I automatically seemed to wake up about 30 seconds before Sandra came into my room with my breakfast and she didn't really give any indication to what would be happening today. I had to wait 15 minutes in class whilst The Others decided whether they were going to be staying with us today and Miss Baxter did a very good job at communicating with us, but we didn't learn very much.

It was only when I came "home" for dinner that I was reminded about how significant today is for me. I knew that the trial would be on the news, but I expected it to be on the local news, not the lead story on the national news. To be honest though it didn't feel as strange as I thought it would have done. It was like I was just watching a normal news report. Not a news report about a trial where I was a key witness for the prosecution.

The only thing that did get to me was how they showed footage of Adam and his "friends" stood outside the court. They all looked so relaxed, stood with their defence teams like they weren't getting ready for an eleven week trial and that they didn't really have anything significant to worry about. The news also showed footage of a protest from a far-right group, and footage of a group who were protesting against the protest group. Quite what that lot are hoping to achieve I've no idea. But it's in part thanks to that politically correct deluded mob that the sort of abuse carried out by Adam and his "friends" has been allowed to go on without any repercussions for so long.

Even though I'm miles away from the court where the trial is taking place everything that is mentioned on the T.V. seems like it's taking place right in my bedroom. The news reader goes through it step-by-step, saying that the prosecution have accused Adam and his "friends" of working together to exploit girls in what is now my local area.

When the news switches over to the reporter outside the court, the reporter goes through the basics of the trial. It involves nine men who are all either taxi drivers or takeaway workers. Some are charged with rape; whilst other are charged with sex trafficking and it's claimed that they were all part of a gang that lured underage girls into sexual activity.

The reporter explains that when the prosecutor opened the case, she told the jury that they might find some of the evidence distressing, describing the events detailed by the girls as, "at best saddening... and at worst shocking." Mine will be the saddening part and Lucy's will be the shocking part there no doubt. However, the next part the prosecutor said annoys me, "No child should be exploited as these girls say they were."

_Say_.

It might only be a small three-letter word but its use sounds to me like I'm still not being believed. That there's still some doubt, even in the minds of the prosecution that I'm not telling the truth. But any anger that might start to get my mind to drift soon is dispelled when Adam's name is mentioned and it shows him walking into court.

The reporter gives her version of what happened between me and Adam, how he won my trust and how the winning of that trust led to him raping me in his taxi before he later passed me on to his friends. When the reporter starts explaining what happened to Lucy she says that it's too graphic for them to report. I've heard Lucy's version of it and I've read her witness statement so I know full well what she had to endure from the age of 13.

It's just unfortunate that it took the police and numerous other people nearly five years to believe her. I just hope it doesn't take the jury that long. At least everyone now knows what has happened. It hasn't killed me, but it probably has made me stronger in the long-term. I'm closer to getting over it and I'm closer than ever to functioning normally. However, I know that today is just the start of a trial that will last for weeks with no guaranteed outcome.

Despite everything that's been said, I'm feeling better than I thought I would do after watching the news report, but then I haven't been outside. I haven't seen what the general public's reaction is. For some reason, I'm desperate for them to support me. To be on my side.

But then some people might think that it's my fault. That I caused my own downfall. That I was happy to go along with it. After all, I was happy to take Adam's "friends" money. I've even still got most of it in my room. If it was affecting me that much then surely I'd have got rid of it somehow. Burnt it, or given it to charity.

The news report continues with the rest of the days news. You know, the usual stuff. Some MP who's been caught lying. Someone who's died in suspicious house fire. Perhaps it's not that big a deal after all. To me, this trial has been my entire world for the past few months, but everyone else's lives seem to have been carrying on regardless.

However, today isn't just about me and what's happened in the past. It's about making sure that it never happens again. Or if it's currently happening to someone now then that person feels like they can come forward and speak out. That's why I spoke out. To create awareness. An awareness that says in the public view long after the trial has ended.
