Free My Dad's a Policeman by Cathy Glass Page A

waited as the key turned in the front door and Libby went down the hall to greet her old man. The door opened and he stepped inside. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Fynn, love, this is Ryan,’ she said. ‘He’s the lad I told you about who’s staying with us until his mum gets better.’
    Fynn nodded at me and came down the hall with his hand outstretched, ready to shake mine. My mouth fell open and I stared at him in disbelief. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Fynn was tall and black like Libby, but that wasn’t the reason I was staring. It was what he was wearing that had shocked me.
    ‘Good to meet you, Ryan,’ he said, shaking my hand warmly.
    ‘And you,’ I managed to mumble.
    ‘I’ve one more late shift tomorrow,’ he said, ‘then I’ve got the weekend off. I’ve promised to take Callum and Brendon to the match on Saturday. You up for that?’
    I nodded, still gawping at what he wore – his uniform. ‘I don’t believe it!’ I said at last.
    ‘What’s that?’ Fynn asked, puzzled, glancing at Libby.
    ‘That my foster dad’s a policeman!’
    ‘Well, you better believe it,’ Fynn said, laughing. ‘So keep out of trouble.’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘Good lad.’

Postscript
    I asked Libby if she would buy a bigger bed so Tommy could come and live with us, but she said no because she was thinking of buying bunk beds, which would be more comfortable; then she explained. She said my Mum had seen a solicitor, and the following week they were going to court when there was a good chance that the judge would make a ruling that Tommy and me should be placed in care together.
    Libby was right. The judge said that Tommy and me should stay in foster care whilst Mum went into rehab, but it was important that siblings stayed together whenever possible. So because Libby had offered to have us both, Tommy could move in with me.
    A year on we’re still living with Libby and Fynn, and will do until Mum is better. We get to see Mum twice a week – on Wednesdays after school and on Sundays. For the first three months, we had to see Mum at the Contact Centre with a social worker present which I didn’t like but then it was changed to what Duffy calls ‘community contact’.
    So now we see Mum away from the centre and without another adult watching over us. We do fun things with Mum that we didn’t do before, like going to the cinema, ice-skating and bowling. Sometimes Mum collects us from Libby and Fynn’s and sometimes Libby or Fynn drops us off wherever we’re meeting Mum. Libby and Mum have become good friends and I know they sometimes chat on the phone in the evening when I’m in bed. Mum is getting better slowly and, although Duffy says she is making good progress, she isn’t there yet so the social are giving her more time to get well so she can have me and Tommy back.
    Tommy and me get on well with our foster dad, Fynn. He does all the things a dad should do and we’ve both decided we’re going to join the police when we’re older. Fynn is teaching me how to control my anger so when I feel hot and twitchy, rather than hit someone, I take a few deep breaths, count to ten and walk away. Me and Tommy go to school every day. Some days I’d rather not, but if I don’t go to school, I don’t get my pocket money (which went up to £10 when I had my thirteenth birthday) so I go along and try to do the work and behave myself.
    One Saturday morning when I’d been at Libby’s for about two months, I caught a 247 bus to go and meet up with Wayne. I thought the geezer driving the bus looked vaguely familiar but it didn’t click who he was until he said, not unkindly; ‘So are you going to pay your fare this time?’ I realised it was the same bus driver who’d let me off the fare on that dreadful night when I’d run away from Libby’s and had no money.
    ‘Of course I am,’ I said proudly. ‘I’ve got a bus pass now. And money, so I can pay you what I owe you.’
    ‘Good lad,’ he said.
    I showed him the