He has observed Issy through the windows, and, in the garden.
I had briefly mentioned our predicament.
But as usual, he makes no enquiry of her.
I ask how his Christmas went, he returns the curtesy.
The social necessity of a favourable reply irritates.
‘It wasn’t that good’, his ‘oh’ expression, encourages me to continue,
‘ Issy might be taken; she is worth £4,000 a week’.
His head cocks slightly, but his fixed richter grin, does not falter.
I go back in.
Furious, amazed, humiliated.
No words express, invisibility.
He boasted he was a devote Christian.
‘See how they love one another’, must be reserved for the chosen.
I email the social worker, to check if they are coming, they say yes.
Both arrive, as usual on Wednesday.
They ask what day time activities we’ve arranged for Isabel.
I had emailed the only day centre provision that was closeish.
Isabel is generally in a better mood, and Angel Eyes has managed to read and colour with her.
She rushed down the path with me to pay the window cleaner, but is still reluctant to put her coat on and go out.
All is spring.
All is uncertain.