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The Room That Waits

We live in a modest bungalow in a village just outside of Grimsby. Jane and I were blessed with our daughter, Lizzie, through adoption when she was just five months old. We didn’t need a big house or multiple spare rooms. Life was straightforward, ordinary in many ways.

Lizzie has Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), a lifelong condition caused by prenatal alcohol exposure. FASD affects brain development in complex ways, shaping how individuals think, understand and experience the world. Planning ahead is often difficult, and an inability to assess consequences makes people with FASD particularly vulnerable to suggestion and manipulation.

Twenty-two months have passed since Lizzie was taken from outside our home by Coral. Yet her room remains untouched. Her bed, her desk, her chair – all still there. Shortly after she left, Lizzie texted asking for her “stuff”. We bagged her teddies. Jane packed her clothes, the ones that we knew still fitted Lizzie, the ones we thought she’d want. But what did “stuff” really mean?

Her doll’s house is still in her room, complete with the characters whose names and stories Lizzie and I invented together. Many of her books are still on the shelves. Her fairy garden is still outside. All these things are still here, untouched, waiting. She texted us to say she didn’t want everything, just some. So, we waited. Waited for her to come back. But now it feels like we’re waiting for a ghost. For a memory.

The Warning Signs

Two weeks before Lizzie turned eighteenth, Lewis was overheard at college saying that he and his mother would take Lizzie to live with them on her birthday and that she would not see her family again. Linkage College recognised the safeguarding implications and held an emergency meeting on July 6^th 2023. The following day, they informed Jane of the concerning remarks.

Lewis denied it all, claimed it was nothing but idle talk. But it wasn’t.

The Execution Of The Plan

On the 20^th of July 2023, Lizzie’s eighteenth birthday, she and I went to York for a Grand Day Out to celebrate. Her schedule meant she attended college only three days a week, and the 20th was one of her days off.

The recent Linkage investigation has revealed some alarming details about what happened at the college while Lizzie and I were in York.

Although Lizzie was not at college, Lewis was. On that day, he informed staff of the plan for him and his mother to have Lizzie live with them. Technically, this wasn’t entirely new information, as there had been a spoiler alert a couple of weeks earlier. However, it was now officially out in the open. This was necessary because all of Lizzie’s details and address needed to be transferred to the Wilson-Clark address. For the plan to succeed and the move to be permanent, Linkage College had to be informed. So, that’s what Lewis did – he told them the plan.

What did Linkage College do now that they were officially informed of the plan to take a vulnerable young person with a lifelong brain impairment, making them highly susceptible to manipulation? Let’s assume Lewis made it clear that, under no circumstances, should we be informed of the plan. It seems unthinkable he would say otherwise. He was unlikely to say, “And by all means, let Lizzie’s parents know.”

Picture the scene. Imagine it. Immerse yourself in it. Linkage staff surely asked if we, Lizzie’s parents, knew about it. And Lewis either lied, saying we were okay with it, or he advised the staff not to alert us. The fact is, Linkage did not alert us at all. We received no warning whatsoever.

While all this was happening at Linkage, Lizzie and I were either driving to York, laughing, chatting and singing, or we were on a river cruise on the Ouse, arm-wrestling on the little cabin table. Perhaps it was while we sat in the sun, enjoying our ice creams.

Complicity and Silence

What did Linkage do with this information? Crucially, they didn’t inform us, Lizzie’s parents. Instead, they called Focus Adult Social Care for guidance. That was a deliberate choice.

The plan was relayed over the telephone to Adult Social Care, the inevitable question from Linkage being, “So, what do you advise?”

The representative of Adult Social Care asked how old Lizzie was, and they were told that Lizzie was eighteen.

Thus, the verdict, given in a phone call by someone who did not know Lizzie, knew nothing of her diagnosis or her vulnerabilities, had no sight of her EHCP, or did not understand the complexities and risks associated with FASD, this person concluded that because Lizzie was eighteen, that there was nothing that we, her parents, could do to stop this plan going ahead.

Without having met Lizzie, conducted a capacity test, or performed any due diligence to assess whether she understood the massive implications of what she had ‘agreed’ to, Focus Adult Social Care remotely approved the removal. They gave Linkage College the green light, and in turn, Linkage College provided Lewis with the necessary permission slip.

In the shadowy exchange between Lewis Wilson-Clark, Linkage College and Focus Adult Social Care, the staff members became inextricably involved in Coral’s plan to take Lizzie through orchestrated predatory removal.

And the next day, Lizzie was gone.

A Family Disregarded

This is Lizzie’s family home. We are her mum and dad. Her doll’s house and fairy garden are here. The markings on the pantry door showing her height as she grew over the years are still there. Lizzie lived and laughed here, day in and day out. She was loved and felt safe and secure here.

Lizzie has not set foot in this house since that fateful day, one day after her eighteenth birthday. Why?

Institutional Failure

I am weary of institutional indifference, inaction and ineptitude. I am tired of two years of correspondence and clinging to the hope that someone in the police, Adult Social Care or Linkage College would see the truth of what has happened. They will not see; they dare not see because seeing would mean admitting responsibility and acknowledging culpability. Therefore, they choose to remain blind. It is deliberate denial and overt obfuscation. Each institution – Linkage College, Focus Adult Social Care, the police – points fingers at the others. It is a cynical farce, a merry-go-round designed to waste my time and make me give up.

I had hoped that intervention by Melanie Onn MP might mark a turning point. After meeting with her, I’m less certain. Still, I hold out hope.

Time for Change

It is time to change the narrative, raise the tempo, and take a different approach. My patience has worn very thin. I will not wait for something tragic to happen before these agencies decide that “lessons must be learned.” They think they can string me along, bouncing me from one to another like playground bullies.

No more.

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Thank you for reading. If you have any insights, comments or advice, please feel free to add them below.