Someone Else's Child

By Kylie Orr

A gripping contemporary novel from a magnificent new talent that tackles the almost unbreakable loyalty of female friendships, the generosity of community and the lengths we will go to save a child.

Ren will do anything for her best friend, Anna. The news that Anna's daughter Charlotte has terminal brain cancer sends them on a desperate hunt for a cure and their only hope lies in an expensive European drug trial.

Ren jumps on board Anna's fundraising efforts, willing to put everything on the line - her reputation in their close-knit community and all the money she can beg or borrow - to secure Charlotte's place. When the local charity drive quickly becomes a nationwide campaign, townspeople start asking questions about the trial. Questions Ren can't answer.

The more she uncovers, the more Ren realises the truth is darker than she could ever imagine. Are there any lines that won't be crossed in their fight for Charlotte?

PRAISE:

'An unputdownable, one-sitting read.' - Better Reading

'What is a life worth? Who decides? Someone Else's Child kept me up late at night reading to find those answers. A ticking time bomb of a mystery that asks how far would you go to get what you need.' - R.W.R McDonald, Australian author of The Nancys

'Someone Else's Child is a captivating story. In the age of GoFundMe, it raises some very timely questions about friendship, ethics and loyalty.' - Eliza Henry-Jones, author of In The Quiet

'Kylie Orr shines the spotlight on distorted female friendships in a tightly written novel that will have you turning pages past bedtime.' - Fiona Lowe, bestselling Australian author of A Family of Strangers

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jun 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781867227281

Kylie Orr

Kylie Orr (she/her) is a Melbourne-based writer who once kicked a winning goal in a charity football match and has never let her family hear the end of it. Over the past fifteen years, her feature articles have been published in The Age, The Sydney Morning Herald, Daily Life and across News Ltd. Kylie's novels explore the darker side of humanity and question what we understand about ourselves. Her debut novel Someone Else's Child was longlisted in the Richell Prize, the MsLexia International Novel Competition and awarded the Dymocks & Fiona McIntosh Commercial Fiction Masterclass scholarship. She lives cliffside on the land of the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation. She shares the space with her four children, just the one husband and a cat called Alfie who has surprised everyone by taking up space in her camera roll and on her reading chair. Website: kylieorr.com Instagram: @kylieorr_writer

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

My gut is a bag full of fists. I strap on a smile and remind myself why I’m here: to help heal Lottie. If she were my child, I would do anything to save her. Just like Anna.

I weave through the crowd that has flocked to the fundraiser. There must be a quarter of the Gibbs Creek population attending the event—by far the most bodies the primary school has ever had on its grounds. Like a royal bloody wedding, it is.

I nod thanks, wave hello and shake hands as if I’m a local politician, all the way to the child-sized bathrooms. The walls of the girls’ toilet block are painted an offensive lollipop pink. The boys’ block is a haphazard splattering of cobalt blue. Good old Gibbs Creek Primary School still representing gender like it’s 1950. Each toilet door has an inspirational quote penned across it. The messages give me some hope for the next generation.

Throw kindness around like confetti!

Be the change you want to see in the world!

Anna and Lottie are taking a moment before they brave the people.

‘Time to greet the fans!’ I clap in anticipation.

‘Morning, Ren.’ Anna’s half-smile masks what must be all sorts of pain tangled inside her. She cups a shallow pool of water in her palms then, like a slap, splashes it across her face. She dabs concealer under her eyes and reapplies blush to her cheeks.

‘Charlotte? You ready? Ren’s here!’ Anna calls over the top of the cubicle.

‘Hey, Lottie?’ I tap my knuckle on her door. The quote painted across it couldn’t be more appropriate: She believed she could so she did. ‘C’mon, chickadee, we’ll get you over to see your friends faster than you can say fairy floss!’

Lottie unlocks the door in slow motion. Her floral sundress hangs loose. Spindly arms poke out from the cardigan draped around her shoulders. She shivers despite the temperate autumn day. ‘Do I have to go?’

Anna rubs the goose bumps off Lottie’s arms and kisses her forehead. She leaves a faint red outline. ‘A quick photo. Then you can play with your friends.’

Lottie scrunches her face in an attempt to stop a single tear that escapes down her cheek.

‘Oh, darling, it’ll be OK.’ Anna rubs it away with her thumb.

I press my teeth into my bottom lip, ward away the sorrow and breathe deep into my diaphragm. ‘The quicker we get the photo over, the quicker you can nick off with your mates,’ I say. ‘What’s bothering you, hun?’

‘I look ugly. Bald and ugly,’ she says. ‘They’ll tease me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ My voice is too high-pitched to sound authentic. ‘You look like a freaking superhero, Supergirl … a super bald-headed slick hero …’

She grants me a small smile.

Anna wraps Lottie’s head in a silk scarf adorned with large flowers and delicate swirls. She spotted the piece in a city boutique on one of Lottie’s appointment days. So very Anna, so not Lottie. Anna squats level with Lottie’s eyes and holds her emaciated face. In a firm but gentle voice she says, ‘You are strong. You are beautiful. We can do this.’

Anna’s ease is quite incredible for someone who never wanted children. The campaign Jez launched to persuade her to start a family could have qualified as an extreme sport. I shake my head, remembering his sales techniques like a telemarketer calling every night at dinnertime. You’re made to be a mother, he’d said to Anna too many times to count. He may be an excavator but I thought back then he was digging a hole with a teaspoon.

When those double lines finally showed, Anna’s apprehension was a stark contrast to Jez’s palpable joy. I was close enough to her to know that becoming a mum scared the stuffing out of her because she was fixated on giving her child the upbringing she’d never had. You know, Golden Books versus Grimms’ Fairy Tales. Jez, on the other hand, bellowed like a madman right across their backyard. I’m sure you could hear it echoing off the creek beds: ‘I’m going to be a dad!’

He was sure this baby would be the glue that stuck them together. They called the glue Charlotte. Charlotte Ivy, to be exact, but to all of us she is Lottie. Except for Anna, who named her Charlotte because she loves the name and refuses to embrace the small-town habit of nicknames. City folk can get all knotted up about some weird shit.

Jez ordered a sign to hang from their front fence: Garson Family. His hope for more kids has never quite abated but Anna was only ever going to agree to one child. Especially when Jez started working away weeks at a time on the new motorway tunnel project. She didn’t sign up to be a single parent with Jez only home on weekends, but to get ahead financially he had to go where the money was. They waited until Lottie started school so the impact of Jez being away during the week wouldn’t be as difficult. Lottie missed him like crazy, though. We all did. I helped Anna out whenever I could during the week and they had quality family time on the weekends, but Jez’s absence left a gaping hole. Strange, the decisions we make for money.

Hard to believe eight years after they welcomed Lottie into the world we’re here raising money to save their only child from the cancer invading her brain. Life: you can try screwing it down as tight as you like but there’s always something that will shake it loose.

I ignore the pungent smell of sympathy. My role today is to spread positivity like a rash all over these people. I have every other day to think about how gloomy life is for the Garsons. The only thought I will allow today is that we will defy the prognosis and heal Lottie.

The day has an optimistic air to it. A cloudless sky holds a sun that heats with care, not attitude. Autumn weather we couldn’t have ordered if we tried. Filtered light soaks through maple trees and the distant mountains create a postcard backdrop. Despite my nerves, a fizz of pride swells my chest at what a stellar community we live in.

The school commands pole position on the wide, tree-lined main street that cuts through former farmland. Principal Richter offered the grounds to Anna because Lottie is a student here. So was I, and so were most Gibbs Creek residents at some point in their early lives. I’m not sure which is older—the school or the staff. Mr Richter taught a class when I started school back in the eighties.

Activity buzzes around us. Polished athletes from the GC Raiders are playing ball games with the kids. A five-dollar ride on a Harley will take you for a swift loop around the block. Jumping castles bounce children while rides force squeals from adrenaline junkies. These activities have all been donated in the spirit of supporting the Garsons. Food and drink vendors spruik their offerings and music blares from the loudspeakers. Excited children full of life and healthy organs dart in and out of the crowd. Lottie watches them as we skirt the edge of the sports oval.

Anna tiptoes, careful not to poke heel-holes in the grass. She wears a vintage sundress and matching shoes. She told me she had imagined Brigitte Bardot at a garden party when she saw it in the window. Big flowers, a neckline that teases to the cleavage. An adult version of Lottie’s dress, I guess you could say.

My riding boots are used to the mush underfoot. I cleaned them for the event, which seems pointless now I’m rebranding them with slicks of mud. I forced on a blazer too. I had to dig to the back of the wardrobe to find it and I’m pretty stoked it still fits. Sweat slithers down my back and reminds me why I don’t wear fancy gear like this every day.

Lottie dawdles. Her weak body and unsteady gait are the new normal. People watch us—the reluctant stars of the show. Anna stops for anyone who approaches, sharing grateful thankyous and hopeful wishes. I slug mouthfuls of water to rinse away the metallic taste in my mouth. Anna powers on, energised by the enthusiasm of the day. Locals are here for them, to help get Lottie to Germany for a medical trial costing one hundred thousand dollars. Add to that the price of flights plus living costs in Germany for six months while she undergoes treatment and we’re looking at two hundred grand.

I slow for Lottie. ‘OK?’ I cock my head to the side. She is breathless from the short walk. We finally make it to the office steps where Jez waits. A Heal Charlotte Foundation banner stretches across the entrance. Anna kisses him, a quick peck, then Jez hugs Lottie to his side.

‘Hey, Jez.’ I smile.

He forces a pained grin. Relax, Jez. I imitate deep breaths and a little side dish of namaste yoga hands. He screws up his face, trying to read my ridiculous expressions and exaggerated gestures.

The newspaper photographer choreographs their positions. ‘Lean in a little closer, Jeremy. Huddle underneath the sign. That’s it. Now put your arm around Anna. Charlotte, you tuck right in there between Mum and Dad. Great!’

They follow his instructions. Jez covers his discomfort with an awkward laugh. Anna finds his hand and squeezes a silent reassurance. She is as effortless in front of the camera as she is in crowds. She draws people in with her open and outgoing manner.

When we first met, over a decade ago, I was daunted by her confidence. She volunteered her time to help with event planning for the Gibbs Creek 150-year celebration. She managed to turn a token nod to history into a fantastic community-wide festival. Her PR background certainly shone through and I think that’s when locals saw her as an asset, not a threat. It’s fair to say she was the last person I thought I’d end up friends with but over time I realised she needed a comrade as much as I did.

Anna’s good for Gibbs Creek. Country towns can get stuck, because the invisible menace of an insular life is that you become suspicious of outsiders and what they can offer. That kind of mindset closes you off from so many possibilities and adventures. Well, that’s how I see it. Anna wasn’t deterred by the gruff locals who were wary of some city chick calling our town her new home. She did the groundwork, took the time to get to know the locals, showed interest in their lives and listened to what was important to them. It was nothing for her to be bailed up in the main street while an octogenarian rattled off the history of the township. Never once did she rush them, ignore them, patronise them. Speaking to locals, particularly those who had lived in Gibbs Creek all their lives, was a rich source of knowledge. A privilege, she once described it as. This effort and care she showed proved her worth and the community readily accepted her.

A gaggle gathers behind the photographer, taking photos on their phones so they can boast their attendance on social media. The Garsons will be all over the internet before the painted butterflies and spiderwebs dry on children’s cheeks.

‘OK, all done! Thanks for that.’ The photographer gives Lottie a thumbs-up. ‘Get well soon, princess.’

Lottie manages a thin smile, watches him unscrew the camera lens and place it, like a jigsaw piece, in his equipment case. Anna moves closer until her silhouette shades the photographer.

‘Excuse me, David? Before you pack it all away, could we have some shots in Charlotte’s classroom? Show her work? I’m happy to offer an interview if the paper’s interested in a longer feature.’

Anna holds Lottie’s hand before she can make an escape. The sound of children’s laughter ricochets off school buildings, the smell of barbequed food and the whirr of fairy floss draw Lottie’s attention. Her friends call for her to join them at the lucky spinning wheel. I scratch the back of my neck until it hurts. A habit I need to stop.

Jez pushes his sunglasses onto his head. ‘Anna, do you really need to do this? Let her go with her friends.’

‘It won’t take long.’ Anna appeals to David before he locks the case. ‘Please!’ She smiles wide, exposing teeth all the way at the back of her mouth.

Lottie sags her shoulders and the scarf slips off her head. Anna fixes the headpiece back in place and rubs Lottie’s cheek.

Jez sighs. ‘You OK with this, Lottie?’

Lottie squirms but remains silent.

‘We’ll have fun, won’t we, darling?’ Anna encourages.

Lottie kicks dust from the path.

‘Meet you back at the drinks cart!’ Anna calls to us as she signals to David to follow.

Jez and I stand like two old blokes at a rock concert, not quite knowing what to do with ourselves. We’ve been in each other’s lives long enough to sit comfortably in silence. Our friendship spans more years than mine and Anna’s and, to be honest, probably makes more sense. How he and I, a couple of country introverts, became the centre of her life I’ll never quite explain. Anna’s magnetism could be to blame. We were sucked into the force field: one lover, one friend.

‘It’ll be right,’ I finally say, and I whack Jez on the back. I’m not sure to what or whom I’m referring.

‘Yep,’ he replies, not asking.

CHAPTER TWO

As the sky fades from navy to charcoal, food vendors shut their vans and clean up. Jez and I farewell the last few locals and thank the heavens today is as good as over. My legs throb, aching from an entire day of standing. I lean on the fence to give them a break.

‘What a great day!’ My voice croaks.

Jez shrugs. ‘Yeah.’

‘Anna’s done an awesome job.’

‘Yep.’ He cracks each knuckle one by one and I cringe with every pop. ‘We should have sold the house,’ he says as he gives the last knuckle an almighty squeeze.

‘You’ve been over this, mate.’

He sighs, stretches his neck from side to side. ‘This fundraising stuff doesn’t sit right.’

‘Let’s just run with Anna’s plan for now. She knows what she’s doing. The goal is money for the trial, however we can get it.’ I may as well pour myself into a cheerleader’s skirt and raise pompoms as I chant ‘AN-NA, AN-NA!’ into Jez’s ears.

This trial is Lottie’s last chance. The medicos have thrown everything at Lottie’s tumour, and Anna has thrown everything at them. If Mary Poppins had a medical bag she’d be face-deep in it searching for a potion and coming up empty.

‘You know they’ve given Lottie twelve to eighteen months,’ he says with disbelief. ‘She’ll be lucky to see her tenth birthday.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s unthinkable.’ I don’t know what else to say to ease his pain.

‘I thought they didn’t like to give timelines …’ he says.

‘People need some structure in the middle of all the unknown, I guess.’

Freefalling without a deadline is inhumane. Deadline. What a horrid word. I tuck the thought neatly away in the back of my brain. I know Lottie’s end threatens. It hovers, paces, appears and disappears, blinks a giant exit sign above her head. I won’t allow the reality to infect my commitment. Not while Lottie is still here and very much alive.

‘Anyway, we can disregard that timeline. We’re getting the money to get you guys to Germany and get Lottie on that trial. Those magicians in lab coats will fix this tumour with their potion and she’ll be right as rain. Have faith.’

A grunt of teenagers hurdles the fence and yells a mumble of goodbyes. Jez holds his hand up in a static wave as their backs vanish down the street.

‘I should have come back earlier. Weekends weren’t enough. You know, I thought she’d get better … that it was just school germs, childhood colds, a bad run. Anna was so confident she’d sort it out that I didn’t feel the need to return. At the start anyway. Finishing the project to bring in more money shouldn’t have been the priority.’

‘It was the right thing at the time, but now your girls need you here.’

‘Yeah. Except the money issues aren’t solved. If anything, they’re worse. The trial is our only chance, and that is exactly the reason we need to sell the house. Yesterday.’

‘Let’s get through the next couple of months,’ I say. ‘I thought selling wouldn’t get you the total anyway?’ I avoid eye contact. We were raised to believe it was rude to discuss someone’s financial status but this whole situation pivots on one very basic fact: we need money. Lots of it.

‘Yeah but we’d be a lot closer.’

‘Jez, the property market is deflated, the banks won’t come to the party, Anna’s business isn’t raking in the bucks.’ As soon as I say it, I want to take it back. Anna and Jez’s money issues are for them to work out.

‘We need the total. Now. Not in a few months’ time.’

I turn to face him. His brown curls are matted into disarray, flopping in his face and coiling around his ears.

‘Even if you sold the house and made a profit to put towards the fee, where would you live? You guys could squeeze into my two-bedder but I’m pretty sure the days of sharing a house are well behind us. Anna would never agree to live with Nelly. Rentals are non-existent out here …’ It all sounds so desolate when I say it out loud. ‘Mate, we’ll get the money. You just gotta believe. You know, put it out to the universe and all that bosh!’ I laugh at my own joke.

He doesn’t see the humour. ‘I don’t know if healing crystals and positive thinking are going to pay the bills.’ He stares into the darkness. ‘I could take on more jobs.’

‘Where? Going out of town again isn’t an option. Lottie needs you here; Anna needs you … especially now.’

Jez rests on the fence next to me. Wonky slats moan under his weight. ‘Lottie’s our responsibility. Her health is our problem, not everyone else’s.’ He coughs over the break in his voice.

‘Don’t look at it like that, you nong. Kids aren’t meant to get sick. It’s not the way the world works. People want to help. They want to feel like they can do something useful to make this shitful situation better.’

Jez remains silent.

‘Give it a bit more time. Anna’s the guru; she knows how to spin interest. Having you here to give her extra support is exactly what we all need. We’ll get the total without selling.’ I punch his arm, a friendly wallop to jolt him out of his funk.

‘Selling our souls instead,’ he says, his voice monotone.

I let that one go straight through to the keeper. Earpiercing screeches fill the space before I need to prepare a response, anyway. Dread floods my body. Even without looking, I know it’s Kynan Thompson. I want to ignore the familiar sound but I know Courtney will be there, pushing Kynan in his wheelchair. Her twenty-one-year-old body fit and lean, but her twenty-one-year-old face pale and gaunt from the relentless stress of parenting a child with a disability by herself.

‘Ren!’

I turn around and plaster a smile to my face.

‘Courtney! So nice to see you here.’ I half-lie. It’s not that I don’t want to see them, I just don’t want to deal with the inevitable confrontation. Here. Now.

‘I thought I’d bring Kynan out. You know, let him do stuff like normal kids do.’

I take a deep uncomfortable breath and stare at the giant multicoloured lollipop lying in its plastic wrap across Kynan’s lap.

‘Hey, Kynan. Have you had fun today?’ He nods enthusiastically and pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose with the heel of his hands.

‘Did you get my message last week? I really need a break.’

I nod and feel my stomach pull. This poor girl—because that’s what she was when she had Kynan—has had to deal with life in all its shitty seasons. An unplanned pregnancy to a fellow teenager, and neither of them knew what to do about it. Courtney kept the baby thinking he would be by her side, instead he took off and left her to deal with it alone. Uninterested and unsupportive parents offered no help and then it was all compounded when Kynan was born with Fragile X syndrome. Even the most heartless of humans wouldn’t wish her situation on their worst enemy.

‘Just working through my list of call backs and you’re right at the top. How about I give you a buzz on Monday? Getting late now … Kynan is probably exhausted. Aren’t you, buddy?’ I say, and for not the first time, I regret my words as they leave my mouth.

She laughs sarcastically. ‘Guess who else is exhausted …’

Out of the corner of my eye I see Jez wince as Kynan elevates his squealing and starts rocking in his wheelchair. Courtney pushes and pulls the wheelchair in violent jerks. I want to grab the handles and take Kynan home myself, to give Courtney a break and to hug that kid who has a lifetime of challenges ahead of him.

‘Nine o’clock Monday. You will be my first call, Courtney. Promise.’

Anna heads towards us. Glenn Carmody adds fifty dollars to her donations tin as he leaves. Tip money from the drunks who hang at his pub, no doubt, but who’s judging? Money’s money.

‘You’re too kind. Thank you so much for coming today and supporting Charlotte,’ Anna says to Glenn. He winks at her and slides his eyes down her body. I quiver at his sleaziness and am thankful Jez is looking the other way.

‘Hey Anna!’ I call out and hope her presence diffuses the situation with Courtney.

She smiles. ‘Hey, you guys.’ She puts her hand on Courtney’s shoulder then bobs down to Kynan’s face. ‘Charlotte will be so sad she missed you, Kynan. She was very tired so I sent her home with her nana. But look at you out late, party boy!’

Kynan smiles and drool slips out his mouth. Courtney releases her shoulders and her face softens. ‘I wanted him to be part of it today. I also know the hell of living with a kid who isn’t a hundred per cent.’

‘You are doing an amazing job. Honestly, Courtney, Kynan is a delight.’ Anna smiles at Courtney and Kynan laughs and flaps his hands in excitement.

‘I’d better get him home. Hope you raised heaps for Lottie today,’ Courtney says as she wheels Kynan out of the school gates.

Once their silhouettes descend into blackness, I breathe out. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ Anna asks.

‘For diverting that interaction. It should have been me appeasing her, telling her she’s doing an incredible job. Instead I’m making excuses for why I haven’t secured her any respite.’

Anna waves away my misgivings. ‘We’re all doing the best we can. She knows that.’

Jez pushes off the fence where he’s hidden from the awkward conversations. Anna kisses him on the cheek then rubs her own, scratched from his three-day growth.

‘Hey, stranger. Where you been?’ he asks Anna.

‘Just doing the rounds. Making sure I thanked the last of the crowd.’ She places the tin on the ground and removes her heels one by one. ‘Can’t wait to get home and put my feet up!’

I shake the thought of Kynan and Courtney from my mind and turn my attention back to today. ‘What an amazing day!’ It comes out louder than I expect.

‘It’s been brilliant,’ Anna agrees. ‘Thanks for all your help, Serenity Rose Hill. Look at you! Haven’t had a chance to comment on how professional you look today.’

I run my hand over my ponytail. For years, Anna has tried to get me to straighten my hair. Or curl it, or style it. Do something more interesting than a boring brunette streak down my back. It isn’t me. I don’t own much make-up either, although that never stopped Anna trying to sweettalk me over to the dark side with eye-shadow tutorials and pampering girls’ days. Under sufferance, I dress up for important occasions. Weddings. Funerals. This fundraiser is an exceptional case. It warrants a blazer and good jeans.

‘Enough with the name, thanks. Time to legally change it to Ren although Mum would turn in her gypsy grave.’ I laugh until I notice my reference to death.

Jez cuts in. ‘Heard you were cracking the whip around town. It’s why we had so many people here.’

‘Not just me.’ I give Jez a grateful smile. ‘Obviously, Anna has huge pull with her winery and farming clients. Nelly’s been working her magic at the bowls club too. Born and bred in Gibbs Creek has its benefits.’

‘It’s been a wonderful team effort.’ Anna winds her wedding ring around and around. ‘Even for those of us who aren’t true locals.’ Her voice snags and drops away.

To me, she is a local, but she carries a tiny pearl of insecurity like a rock some days. It’s as though we’ve allowed her residence but not citizenship. ‘I’ll always be on probation,’ she once

Reviews for Someone Else's Child

[shelleyraec · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Debut author Kylie Orr explores friendship, betrayal, and trauma in Someone Else’s Child.With traditional approaches failing to treat eight-year-old Charlotte’s brain tumour, everyone agrees that securing her a place in an overseas clinical trial that offers help is essential, despite the exorbitant costs involved. While Lottie’s heartbroken father Jeremy continues to work to support the family, and her devoted mother Anna, takes sole responsibility for her care, Ren, Lottie’s loving godmother, does what she can to help them all cope with the strain, and is an eager supporter of the fundraising efforts.As the story unfolds from Ren’s perspective, it’s clear she admires Anna, though they are quite different from one another. Orr’s skilful portrayal of their dynamic, which is integral to the plot, is very believable. In their nine years of friendship, Ren has never had reason to suspect Anna capable of deceit or cruelty. If Anna is lately occasionally sharp and demanding, Ren readily accepts the stress and exhaustion of the circumstances as an excuse. While she may not always agree with her friend’s decisions, Ren tells herself she is not a mother, and she trusts that Anna knows what is best for her daughter.Orr stirs a range of strong emotions as the story progresses, from sadness and compassion, to dread and anger, but there is nuance to be found too. Though there is no surprise in regards to the direction the main plot takes, there is growing tension as Ren begins to suspect something is wrong which eventually builds to a dramatic confrontation. I like that Orr also briefly explored the aftermath of events, with an epilogue set three years later.Subplots also add texture to the characters and enhance the story, in particular Ren’s struggle, as a Respite Coordinator for the town council, to find help for a young single mother of disabled son at the end of her rope.Well-written, with complex characterisation, and an emotive plot, Someone Else’s Child is a strong debut. I couldn’t help but consider how I, compared to Ren, would reaction at various points, suggesting this would be a great choice for a book club.