when they’ve what?’ But whatever she had been about to confide, she had thought better of it.
Her bright blue eyes dropped from mine. ‘Och, leave it.’ She waved me away dismissively. ‘Sometimes ye’re better tae pit things behind ye, and not stir it all back up.
Mak me a cuppa tea, Sandra, hen.’
I decided she had meant the way my father had jettisoned all responsibility for his first family.
Meanwhile, Ronnie and I saved until we could buy our own home, a feat unheard of in the generation before ours; raising our children in middle-class bungalows rather than the tenements or
council houses familiar to our parents. I enjoyed the early years of parenthood but although I would not say I smothered my children when they were small, I found it hard not to over-protect them.
I could barely let them out of my sight when they were little, and I was always on the alert. I told myself it was normal for a young mother to check constantly who was hanging around the school
gates, or who was speaking to kids. I told myself this was uppermost in my mind because of my primary-school training, from the years of being responsible for large groups of children. I just
couldn’t get out of the habit, that was all.
The day came when I realized the truth about my reluctance to leave my children with other adults. I had returned to full-time work and was now a lecturer in child education in a college.
‘Auntie’ Rosie, our childminder, had my complete trust, and was adored by both of our two children. Her home was just yards from ours, the arrangement suited everyone beautifully.
However, that day when I arrived to collect Lauren, nobody was there. I was told that Rosie had had to go to the dental hospital for emergency treatment; they wouldn’t be long. I was
thunderstruck when Rosie told me later that she had been longer than expected at the clinic, and Ally, her husband, had spent the afternoon with Lauren across the road at the Chambers Street
museum. I started to shake. I blurted out, in a complete panic, that I had only met Ally once or twice, and I heard myself ask: ‘Ally has been checked out by the social work department, too,
hasn’t he? He doesn’t have any kind of criminal record?’
Many months later, when I was able to speak to Rosie about my past, she said that although she’d been offended at the time, what I had said was clearly understandable.
Today, I still insist on knowing where my children are. There is no question of my daughter going off anywhere alone, not even for a country walk. It is, many people say, a sad reflection on the
way society has gone. I don’t agree. The dangers were there before, but they went unrecognized, and now at least, while we know we cannot wrap children in cotton wool, we can give them
mechanisms for self-protection, explain to them that their bodies are their own and that nobody has the right to touch them.
Chapter Twelve
In 1992 life was going well for me. I had a good marriage, two children who seemed popular and well adjusted at their schools in a pleasant suburb of Edinburgh, and I’d
an interesting job. My teaching career had taken a step forward in 1989, when I’d been promoted to senior lecturer, then shortly afterwards to section head. While this brought much more in
the way of administration, I enjoyed it, and attempted to keep a balance between the work I often brought home and the demands of my role as a mother and wife.
After a long, difficult spell, however, when I filled in for almost two years for someone senior to me who was on sick leave, I jumped at the chance of a full week’s training in management
skills, between 3 and 7 February. The seaside hotel venue was in Portobello, close enough to Edinburgh should any family emergency occur. I had a distinct sense that if anything was to go wrong in
the family, it was bound to happen when I was away for any length of time.
Sure enough, it did, but it was not to do with Ross and Lauren. My
Her bright blue eyes dropped from mine. ‘Och, leave it.’ She waved me away dismissively. ‘Sometimes ye’re better tae pit things behind ye, and not stir it all back up.
Mak me a cuppa tea, Sandra, hen.’
I decided she had meant the way my father had jettisoned all responsibility for his first family.
Meanwhile, Ronnie and I saved until we could buy our own home, a feat unheard of in the generation before ours; raising our children in middle-class bungalows rather than the tenements or
council houses familiar to our parents. I enjoyed the early years of parenthood but although I would not say I smothered my children when they were small, I found it hard not to over-protect them.
I could barely let them out of my sight when they were little, and I was always on the alert. I told myself it was normal for a young mother to check constantly who was hanging around the school
gates, or who was speaking to kids. I told myself this was uppermost in my mind because of my primary-school training, from the years of being responsible for large groups of children. I just
couldn’t get out of the habit, that was all.
The day came when I realized the truth about my reluctance to leave my children with other adults. I had returned to full-time work and was now a lecturer in child education in a college.
‘Auntie’ Rosie, our childminder, had my complete trust, and was adored by both of our two children. Her home was just yards from ours, the arrangement suited everyone beautifully.
However, that day when I arrived to collect Lauren, nobody was there. I was told that Rosie had had to go to the dental hospital for emergency treatment; they wouldn’t be long. I was
thunderstruck when Rosie told me later that she had been longer than expected at the clinic, and Ally, her husband, had spent the afternoon with Lauren across the road at the Chambers Street
museum. I started to shake. I blurted out, in a complete panic, that I had only met Ally once or twice, and I heard myself ask: ‘Ally has been checked out by the social work department, too,
hasn’t he? He doesn’t have any kind of criminal record?’
Many months later, when I was able to speak to Rosie about my past, she said that although she’d been offended at the time, what I had said was clearly understandable.
Today, I still insist on knowing where my children are. There is no question of my daughter going off anywhere alone, not even for a country walk. It is, many people say, a sad reflection on the
way society has gone. I don’t agree. The dangers were there before, but they went unrecognized, and now at least, while we know we cannot wrap children in cotton wool, we can give them
mechanisms for self-protection, explain to them that their bodies are their own and that nobody has the right to touch them.
Chapter Twelve
In 1992 life was going well for me. I had a good marriage, two children who seemed popular and well adjusted at their schools in a pleasant suburb of Edinburgh, and I’d
an interesting job. My teaching career had taken a step forward in 1989, when I’d been promoted to senior lecturer, then shortly afterwards to section head. While this brought much more in
the way of administration, I enjoyed it, and attempted to keep a balance between the work I often brought home and the demands of my role as a mother and wife.
After a long, difficult spell, however, when I filled in for almost two years for someone senior to me who was on sick leave, I jumped at the chance of a full week’s training in management
skills, between 3 and 7 February. The seaside hotel venue was in Portobello, close enough to Edinburgh should any family emergency occur. I had a distinct sense that if anything was to go wrong in
the family, it was bound to happen when I was away for any length of time.
Sure enough, it did, but it was not to do with Ross and Lauren. My
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