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really sincerely do."
    "Oh I see you've already taken steps to have him removed." Jocasta said accusingly. "I don't know why we bothered with this conversation; it's obvious you already intended to send him away regardless of what happened here." Mr Cross looked down at his desk, seemingly embarrassed by Jocasta's accusations.
    "I only want what is best for Adrian, Mrs Brown; I truly believe he will be happier in a specialised unit."
    "I'm sure anywhere would be better than here," Jocasta stood up from her chair, "Oh and Mr Cross?"
    "Yes Mrs Brown?"
    "It's Miss Brown you jumped up prick." Jocasta almost ran out of the door, she could feel her face getting hotter as she walked and knew it must be bright red. Although out of character for her to swear at anyone, Jocasta felt good; it felt right to defend her child.
    She went straight to the classroom she had seen Adrian standing in. Looking through the door she saw that indeed it had been Adrian and he was still standing where she had last seen him, sullenly looking at the class before him, not apparently taking part in the school day that played out before him. Jocasta opened the door and walked in, all the children stopped talking and the teacher also looked up at her as she entered. Jocasta walked over to Adrian, took him gently by the hand and walked him out of the classroom without a word. She led him back along the furnace of a hallway, out into the reception area and then out of the school without a backwards glance. Adrian's smile only grew bigger with every step that put space between him and the school he hated so much.

Chapter 6
    'Being a mother is learning about the strengths you didn't know you had and dealing with fears you didn't know existed.'
    Linda Wooten.
     
    December 2000
    6am
    Jocasta woke before her alarm had a chance to wake her. Having given Adrian the biggest bedroom - well he had so much more stuff in the house - she rose from her single bed. The 'value' sheet she had purchased from Big Value had once again pinged its way off the corners of her bed. Jocasta carried out her morning ritual dance around her mattress, pulling at the corners of the elasticated sheet until finally managing to fit them onto the rectangle of sponge and spring at her knees. She laid her quilt carefully and plumped her two pillows up at the head of her bed before putting on her slippers and making her way to the bathroom.
    Turning on the shower, Jocasta noticed the ever present blackness on the grout between the once gleaming tiles. No amount of cleaning can compensate for wear and tear, and because Jocasta spent all her benefits on the things which Adrian required it didn't leave a lot for renovation. She let loose a sigh and allowed herself a moment to assess her face in the mirror.
    The mirror and tiles weren't the only things showing signs of wear and tear; Jocasta's face peered back at her through the mirror. Now 37 years old, she was aware she was no longer young and that middle-age was creeping up on her. Her once brown hair was now mostly grey; not such a loss, brown was hardly a colour to cling to. The same dark brown eyes stared back under the now wrinkling hoods and the unibrow had won the fight against hair removal long ago, Jocasta having realised that the only person who cared was her and actually she didn't mind it really. She wondered if her parents had the same feature on their face. If her mother could ever recover from her ordeal to accept her - even if Jocasta did look like her rapist father - then perhaps they could reunite and she would find out. Considering her age, she knew it was possible that both her parents were now dead and she may never have the relationship she used to dream of; her mother turning up at her door with her arms open wide waiting to embrace the daughter she could now accept as time had healed her wounds.
    Jocasta thought she actually looked better with a bit of age on her, almost as if she had grown into her face. She knew her body