Chapter 10On Saturday morning the house is full of chattering women again. It's the last day for people to deliver their shoe boxes for Romania. One lady, whose name is Beatrix, arrives with a small child, a little girl of about five or six years old. The child sidles up to me and quietly slips her hand into mine. She stares at me with saucer-like eyes.
“May I pat your dog?” she asks, shyly.
“Yes, of course,” I reply. “Shall I introduce you to him? His name is Ollee.”
“Hello, Ollee, lollee,” she says, laughing. Then she kneels and rubs his belly.
I leave her to rain affection on my spoilt boy and return to speak to Patricia and Beatrix.
“You're a miracle worker,” Beatrix says. “You're the first person she's spoken to since her mother died. I'm her foster carer,” she explains. “Ava's b
