“Mums here for youget your things together.”
Theres a common belief that every kid in a care home longs to hear those words. But Sophie flinched as if slapped.
“Come on, hurry up, why are you just sitting there?”
Miss Thompson frowned, baffled by the girls lack of enthusiasm. Life in care wasnt exactly a picnicsome kids even ran away to live on the streets. And here was Sophie, being handed back her old life, looking as thrilled as someone facing a tax audit.
“I dont want to go,” Sophie muttered, turning towards the window. Her best mate, Emily, shot her a sideways glance but stayed quiet. She didnt get it either. If it were her, shed be over the moonthough, admittedly, no one was queuing up to take Emily home.
“Sophie, whats the matter?” Miss Thompson pressed. “Your mums waiting for you.”
“I dont want to see her. I dont want to go back there.”
The other girls pricked up their ears, so Miss Thompson ushered Sophie into the office for privacy.
“Your mums made mistakes, I wont deny that,” she said gently. “But shes trying. They wouldnt let her take you otherwise.”
“Think this is the first time?” Sophie scoffed. “Ive been in care twice now. Last time, she played the perfect mumhid the bottles, cleaned the flat, bought groceries, even got a job. When social services checked, it looked like a flipping Disney film. Then they sent me back, and she dropped the act the second the door closed. She only wants me for the benefits.”
“Sophie, I cant change that. But surely home is better than”
“Better?!” Sophies voice cracked. “You ever gone to school in shoes with holes when its minus five outside? Ever hidden in your room praying your mums drunk mates dont barge in? Why wont they just take her rights away?!”
Tears welled up. Yeah, care wasnt paradise, but at least she got fed and clothed. At least she was safe.
“I wish I could help,” Miss Thompson sighed.
Sophie was sharptoo sharp for a kid whod bounced through the system. Maybe her mum had been clever once too, before the drink got her. In seven years of care work, Miss Thompson had never met a kid who refused to go home.
“Cant I just live on my own?” Sophie asked. “Id get a job, rent a room.”
“Not till youre eighteen.”
“Im nearly sixteen! Im not a kid!”
Miss Thompson privately agreedSophie had the world-weariness of a pensioner. But rules were rules.
“You need a legal guardian. Is there anyone else? Someone who could apply for custody?”
“No one. Gran kept things bearable till she died. Now its just unbearable.”
“Your dad?”
“Dead. Drink got him too.”
Sophie said it like she was listing the weather. In her world, it was normal.
“Any relatives on his side?”
Sophie paused. “Think his mums still alive. Never met her. She cut him off. Cant blame herI wouldve too.”
“Alright,” Miss Thompson leaned in. “Try living with your mum for now, and Ill look into your gran. Deal?”
Sophie nodded. What choice did she have?
Mum put on a show, sobbing dramatically in the care home foyer, begging forgiveness, clinging to Sophie like a lost treasure. Sophie stayed stone-faced. She knew the script: the second they got home, the act would crumble.
And it did. Day one, Mum pretended. Day two, she came back from Tesco with a bottle.
Back to hell. Mum lost her job. Sophie starved, froze, and dodged strangers in her own flat. When a drunk bloke stumbled into her room one night and she barely shoved him out, shed had enough.
Luckily, Miss Thompson had given her a number. Sophie called. “Its the streets or care. Pick one.”
“I found your gran,” Miss Thompson said. “Ill talk to her. If she agreesand if her flat passes inspectionshe could get custody.”
Sophie insisted on going. She didnt know this woman, but if shed just let her stay till she turned eighteen
The door opened to a woman in her sixtiestall, elegant, and utterly unreadable.
“Yes?”
“Margaret Whitmore?” Miss Thompson asked.
“Yes.”
“Im your granddaughter.” Sophie cut straight to it. No point dancing around.
“Excuse me?”
“Your sons daughter.”
Margarets expression didnt flicker. “And what do you want?”
“Can we talk?” Miss Thompson interjected before Sophie could bulldoze ahead.
“Fine. Briefly. Ive work soon.”
Over tea, Margaret studied Sophie like a museum exhibitcurious, but detached. Miss Thompson laid out the mess: the neglect, the revolving door of care.
“Social services will take her again unless someone steps in. You could apply for guardianship.”
“Why would I?”
“Shes your flesh and blood.”
“I dont know her. Frankly, Id rather forget my son existed. He put me through enough.”
Sophie interrupted. “Look, I dont know you either, and no offence, but Im not dying to bond. I just need a roof till Im legal. Ill buy my own food, get a job. The statell pay youkeep the money, I dont care. If I had other family, I wouldnt be here.”
Miss Thompson shot her a warning glare. But Margarets lips twitchedalmost impressed.
“They say alcoholics kids are slow. Clearly not. So, two years, then you vanish?”
“Promise.”
“Fine. Rules: dont call me Gran, dont touch my things, no friends over. Understood?”
“Crystal.”
Miss Thompson pulled strings. Social services visited Mums flat, and this time, the court stripped her rights. Margaret signed the papers.
Sophie acted tough, but she was terrified. Two months till school ended, no cashwhat if Margaret really let her starve?
But that first night, Margaret called her to the table. Proper foodreal, homemade. Mum had barely boiled pasta. Sophie had forgotten what warmth tasted like.
Next morning, Margaret eyed Sophies battered trainers and sighed.
“After school, were buying you decent shoes and clothes.” No room for argument.
“Ive no money.”
“My money. Id rather spend than be embarrassed.”
Sophie didnt argue.
Margaret bought her piles of geareven asked her opinion, which threw Sophie.
A week later, Margaret summoned her.
“Hows school?”
“Fine.”
“Show me your grades.”
“Its all online now.” Sophie smirked.
“Honestly. As if papers extinct. Well, show me the digital version.”
Sophie had nothing to hideshed worked hard, knowing no one would hand her opportunities.
“Impressive,” Margaret said. Sophie blinkedwas that praise? “With marks like these, youre staying for sixth form, then university.”
“Only if parents bankroll you.”
“Exactly. So youll stay. Till you graduate. Understood?”
Sophies throat tightened. Shed wanted thisneeded itbut never dreamed it possible.
Slowly, the ice thawed. Margaret asked about her life, evenhesitantlyabout her son. Sophie answered lightly, sensing the shame beneath the questions.
She aced her A-levels, got into unithanks to Margaret hiring tutors to patch the gaps. That summer, Sophie found a job, ready to move into halls as agreed.
Then Margaret had a heart attack.
Sophie found her on the floor, pulse thready. For one sickening moment, she thought she was dead.
But Margaret pulled through. When visiting hours began, Sophie bolted to the hospital.
“Gran” She skidded into the ward, then caught herself. “Sorry. Margaret. How are you?”
Margaret smiled, running a hand over Sophies hair.
“Call me Gran. Its nice. Ill be alright, just slow. But Ill manage.”
“Ill look after you! Ill stay till youre back on your feet!”
“I wont be a burden.”
“You put up with me for two years. A strangers kid, dumped on you. You gave me more than my own mum ever did. So Im repaying the favourlike it or not.”
Margaret inhaled sharply, eyes glistening.
“Fine. One condition.”
“What?”
“No student halls. Those places are zoos. Youll live with me.”
Sophie grinned, thenfinallyhugged her.
“Deal.”
