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‘How about we find some colouring for you to do, Phoebe?’ I said, crossing the room. ‘Emily, would you mind fetching the pens and some paper? Phoebe can sit at the table while Lenke and I chat through some of the boring details.’

Emily was watching Phoebe, intrigued. ‘Sure,’ she answered, giving me a sidelong glance. ‘Come on, Phoebe.’

‘Come on, Phoebe,’ she chorused. Emily giggled in response and out of nowhere I remembered reading A Series of Unfortunate Events to her when she was younger. One of the characters in the book, the headmaster, mocked everything the Baudelaire children said. His outlandishly rude character had captured Emily’s imagination at the time and she found it hilarious. I wondered if she was thinking the same as me.

‘Would you like tea, coffee?’

‘No, it is fine.’ Lenke waved her hand and pulled her substantial coat a little tighter around herself. She looked distinctly uncomfortable. The social worker wants this over with, I realised, as I sat next to her on the sofa.

‘So,’ I said in hushed tones once Phoebe was settled at the dining table. Our house is open-plan so even though I could still see her, she was out of earshot. ‘What’s the story with Phoebe?’

‘Oh,’ Lenke waved her hand dismissively. ‘Phoebe, she has a touch of, er, what you say?’

I shook my head.

‘Er,’ she hesitated then reached into her bag, pulling out her diary and flicking through it as if the word she was looking for would miraculously leap from the page. ‘I do not have the, what is it, the papers yet. It was all such an emergency. But it is, er, I think you say autism?’

‘Autism?’ I said, louder than intended. Phoebe inclined her head, staring at me with a strange grin on her face and then, without warning, she threw her head back and began barking. ‘That wasn’t mentioned by the agency,’ I said over the din. Of course, autism would explain her erratic behaviour. The mimicking, screeching and barking made much more sense now.

‘Well, it’s how you say, erm, mildly, not much autistic.’