end of the working day. Every fresh departure added a fine new layer to the crust building over her core.
She had had friends in care, but at sixteen they were all on their own, and life had scattered them. She met Ritchie Adams, and she bore him two children. Tiny little pink things, pure and beautiful like nothing in the whole world: and they had come out of her, and for shining hours in the hospital, twice, it had been like her own rebirth.
And then they took the children from her, and she never saw them again, either.
Banger had left her. Nana Cath had left her. Nearly everybody went, hardly anyone stayed. She ought to be used to it by now.
When Mattie, her regular social worker, reappeared, Terri demanded, ‘Where’s the other one?’
‘Kay? She was only covering for me while I was ill,’ said Mattie. ‘So, where’s Liam? No… I mean Robbie, don’t I?’
Terri did not like Mattie. For one thing, she did not have kids, and how could people who didn’t have kids tell you how to raise them, how could they understand? She had not liked Kay, exactly, either… except that Kay gave you a funny feeling, the same feeling that Nana Cath had once given Terri, before she had called her a whore and told her she never wanted to see her again… you felt, with Kay — even though she carried folders, like the rest of them, even though she had instituted the case review — you felt that she wanted things to go right for you, and not only for the forms. You really did feel that. But she was gone, and she probably don’t even think about us now, thought Terri furiously.
On Friday afternoon, Mattie told Terri that Bellchapel would almost certainly close.
‘It’s political,’ she said briskly. ‘They want to save money, but methadone treatment’s unpopular with the District Council. Plus, Pagford wants them out of the building. It was all in the local paper, maybe you saw it?’
Sometimes she spoke to Terri like that, veering into a kind of after-all-we’re-in-this-together small-talk that jarred, because it sat alongside enquiries as to whether Terri was remembering to feed her son. But this time it was what she said, rather than how she said it, that upset Terri.
‘They’re closin’ it?’ she repeated.
‘It looks that way,’ said Mattie breezily, ‘but it won’t make any difference to you. Well, obviously…’
Three times Terri had embarked upon the programme at Bellchapel. The dusty interior of the converted church with its partition walls and its flyers, the bathroom with its neon-blue light (so you could not find veins and shoot up in there), had become familiar and almost friendly. Lately, she had begun to sense in the workers there a change in the way they spoke to her. They had all expected her to fail again, in the beginning, but they had started talking to her the way Kay had talked: as if they knew a real person lived inside her pockmarked, burned body.
‘…obviously, it will be different, but you can get your methadone from your GP instead,’ said Mattie. She flipped over pages in the distended file that was the state’s record of Terri’s life. ‘You’re registered with Dr Jawanda in Pagford, right? Pagford… why are you going all the way out there?’
‘I smacked a nurse at Cantermill,’ said Terri, almost absent-mindedly.
After Mattie had left, Terri sat for a long time in her filthy chair in the sitting room, gnawing at her nails until they bled.
The moment Krystal came home, bringing Robbie back from nursery, she told her that they were closing Bellchapel.
‘They ain’t decided yet,’ said Krystal with authority.
‘The fuck do you know?’ demanded Terri. ‘They’re closin’ it, and now they say I’ve gotta go to fuckin’ Pagford to that bitch that killed Nana Cath. Well, I fuckin’ ain’t.’
‘You gotta,’ said Krystal.
Krystal had been like this for days; bossing her mother, acting as though she, Krystal, was the grown-up.
‘I ain’ gotta do fuckin’ anythin’,’ said Terri furiously. ‘Cheeky little bitch,’ she added, for good measure.
‘If you start fuckin’ usin’ again,’ said Krystal, scarlet in the face, ‘they’ll take Robbie away.’
He was still holding Krystal’s hand, and burst into tears.
‘See?’ both women shouted at each other.
‘You’re fuckin’ doin’ it to him!’ shouted Krystal. ‘An’ anyway, that doctor didn’ do nuthin’ to Nana Cath, that’s all jus’ Cheryl an’ them talking shit!’
‘Fuckin’ little know-it-all, ain’t yeh?’ yelled Terri. ‘You know fuck-all—’