Chapter 22When Phil McKay arrived home from work, Jean came into the garden as he parked in the driveway. She stood wringing her hands nervously as he climbed out of the BMW.
“Are you okay, Jean? “Is something wrong?”
“Quite the contrary, something is very, very, right. Come into the house and I'll tell you.”
When they entered the lounge Phil placed his briefcase on the floor and removed his jacket throwing it over the back of an armchair. Jean lifted a slim cardboard file off the coffee table.
“Helen, our social worker came round today and she gave me this,” Jean said, holding the file out in front of her. “It's a profile of a child. A little boy called Peter. He's six years old,” Jean's voice caught in her throat and a sob escaped her lips. “He could become our son, Phil. He's availa
