34
PROGRESS IS SUBJECTIVE
A year later, in an upstairs room in Dorset Street, Liza was testing the baby’s bath water with her elbow. She noticed the light in the room dim slightly as a figure stepped into the doorframe. She didn’t look around.
“Comin’ to eat wiv us, Liza?” asked a female voice.
Being included, having that sense of belonging, was all Liza had ever wanted. She had it now. She’d never been so happy. She was a joy to be around. They loved her, everyone loved her.
“Yer, I won’t be long,” she answered. She was smiling indulgently at the impatient tot in her arms. He wouldn’t stop wriggling.
Liza giggled. She loved him without question. But it wasn’t just him. It was the whole package. She thrived in a household that didn’t keep its residents behind iron bars. Where childre
