by Wendy Clarke
That’s what happens every time a new foster child arrives and this time, as with every other, her heart will race with anticipation. She’ll study their faces for clues. Will this child be the one who’ll stay?
Already she has a picture in her mind of what the girl will look like – a head taller than her with glossy black hair and laughing brown eyes. When they see each other, it will be like they’ve known each other all their lives. Freya will curl her pinky finger around her own. Best friends forever, she’ll say. But the bond will be greater than that – the invisible threads tighter. For Freya will be her sister. Her best one yet.
There’s the sound of a car door, but it’s only her dad. He’ll be driving to the station in Shoreham where he’ll leave his car in the car park with lots of others and catch the train to London. Her mum took Charlene and Jasmine to London last summer to see the queen’s palace, leaving her with Mrs Ringrose from next door. She’s old and smells of rose petals and something else she doesn’t like to think about. Maybe this year it will be her turn to go.
As her dad reverses out of the drive, her mum, still in her dressing gown, bangs on the car window. He winds the window down and, from the look on her mum’s face, she knows they’re having a row. It’s been a warm and muggy night and her mum’s words float in through Kelly’s open window.
‘Why can’t you just be pleased?’
Kelly steps back, not wanting them to know she’s seen. The front door slams and there are footsteps on the stairs. Jumping quickly back into bed, she pretends to be asleep when the door to her bedroom opens.
Her mum stands there, her wiry, brown hair wet and straggly from her shower. Bags under her eyes. ‘Time to get up, Kelly. It’s a big day today.’
Kelly stretches and fakes a yawn. ‘When will she be here?’
‘Soon,’ her mum says distractedly. ‘Very soon.’
Despite Kelly’s excitement, she knows what this will mean. Her mum will fuss around Freya, asking her questions about what she likes to eat and what time she goes to bed, as if the answers haven’t already been given to her. Then she’ll show her around the house like she’s the queen, leaving the bedroom, with its view across the wild meadow, until last.
‘This will be your room,’ she’ll say, as she’s said so many times before.
She’s seen it with Charlene and Jasmine. Even Jade had been made to follow her upstairs, her face sulky and her hands curled into fists. Kelly had looked on in awe as the teenager’s heavy black boots had scuffed the skirting whenever she thought her mum wasn’t looking. It was only Mason who’d missed out. He’d had to sleep in the spare room downstairs as he had legs that didn’t work properly.
Don’t forget me, she wants to say. I’m here too.
Instead she says, ‘I’ll get dressed, shall I?’
‘Yes, do that. I need to get myself ready.’ Her mum points to the pile of new clothes she’s left on the chair by her chest of drawers. New brothers and sisters always mean new clothes, even if they’re ones she’d never choose herself.
As her mum’s bedroom door closes and she hears the hum of the hairdryer, Kelly pulls on her pants and vest, then picks up the tartan skirt from the chair. It looks very small and, when she pulls the label out, she sees that it says Age 6-7 years. Nearly two sizes too small. Not knowing what else to do, she steps into it and pulls it up. The elastic waistband is tight, cutting into the flesh of her stomach and she knows it will leave a red mark. Trying to ignore the discomfort, she slots her arms into the puffed sleeves of the white blouse and does up the buttons, relieved when it fits.
The doorbell rings. In a fever of excitement, she goes back onto the landing. Her mum is already there, looking in the landing mirror. Checking her make-up.
‘How do I look?’
She looks as she always does. Overweight, with skin prone to eczema. She’s put on a summer dress that is straining over her bosom. Usually, her dark, wiry hair is scragged back into a band, but today she’s taken more care over it. It’s newly washed and bounces off her shoulders, the side sections drawn away from her face and fastened with diamanté clips. When she turns and flashes Kelly a red-lipped smile, a sickly floral fragrance fills the hall.
‘You look nice, Mummy.’
Her brows pull together. ‘Only nice?’
Kelly swallows. ‘Pretty… and clever… and…’
She’s relieved when her mum helps her out. ‘The perfect mother?’
Her head nods urgently, like a chicken pecking grain. ‘Yes.’
‘Then everything is all right with the world.’ The flushed cheeks from the evening before have returned. She looks feverish, as though she’s starting with a cold.
‘Come on then,’ she says, taking Kelly’s hand.
Then, together, they go down to meet Kelly’s brand-new sister.
6
Kelly Now
A sharp blare of a car horn brings me roughly from my trance. The woman is looking at me now, gesticulating for me to cross the road, and I see I’m mistaken. It isn’t Freya. How could it be? Just like the other times, it’s simply someone who looks like her, someone who just happens to share her blonde hair and pale eyes. Seeing the woman on the beach reminded me of my mother and, in turn, has brought back memories from the past.
For several years after it happened, I’d seen her everywhere, but once I’d moved away, the incidents had become fewer until I’d managed to tell myself that I was over it. Over her. After Noah was born, though, I’d started seeing her again. Started remembering what happened. And now I have her locket. Since it appeared in Noah’s pram, I haven’t been able to put it out of my mind. How did it get there? I search my memory for clues… Did Freya give it to me all those years ago? Did I steal it? Even if it had been in my possession, it doesn’t explain how it came to be nestled inside my baby’s covers. But even as I’m wondering, an image is in my head of Freya the last time I saw her – the gold of the locket caught in a flash of lightning.
Another car sounds its horn. Feeling foolish, I cross the road, then continue my jog home. It’s miserable now and I’m soaked, running around the puddles that spring from nowhere. When I eventually reach my house, I slow, telling myself it’s because I want my heart rate to return to normal but knowing, in truth, it’s because I’m dreading I’ll find Noah red-faced and screaming, the twins fractious for their tea and the house a tip.
As I search in the pocket of my sodden tracksuit bottoms for my key, I notice the newspaper that’s sticking out of the letter box. It’s soggy with rain and I pull it out before letting myself in.
As predicted, the place looks like a bomb’s hit it. One of Mitch’s work boots is by the door, covered in mud. The other is further down the hallway. Two black patent shoes, also caked in mud, have been discarded at the bottom of the stairs along with a fleece and Noah’s car seat. Picking up the shoes, I place them with the others that are neatly lined up against the wall, smiling as I remember how Isabella had insisted I buy them even though it was plainly not what the uniform guidelines had meant by sensible school shoes. She’d argued and argued in that crowded shop, knowing, even at the tender age of five, that she’d wear me down, and when she had, Sophie, of course, had wanted the same.
There is only one pair of patent shoes here, though, and the house is suspiciously quiet. Something that a house with Isabella in never is. Unfolding the newspaper, I look at it. It’s a copy of The Argus. What’s it doing in my door?
From the living room, I can hear the unmistakeable commentary of a football match. For Mitch, watching the game is the next best thing to playing with the lads on a Sunday morning, something he had to give up after he’d damaged the tendon in his knee.
Putting the newspaper on the hall table, I hang my sweatshirt over the banister. There’s a jumble of other jumpers and jackets slung across it, and I resist the urge to sort them out. Instead, I go into the living room, nearly tripping over the change bag that’s spilled its contents onto the floor.
&nb
sp; The first person I see is Sophie. She’s sitting on the floor, her fair head bent to the Disney princess dolls she’s playing with. She looks miserable and when she sees me, she lifts up her arms, but Mitch shakes his head.
‘You’re a big girl, Soph. You don’t need picking up.’
He’s sprawled across the settee next to her, his feet resting on the worn arm – the cigarette burn they cover, testimony to his previous thirty a day habit. Noah, in his white blanket, lies along his legs. He’s fast asleep and my instinct is to ask Mitch why he didn’t put him in his crib. I say nothing, though. Noah is quiet for a change and, for that, I can forgive my husband anything.
I crouch beside Sophie and stroke her hair back from her face. ‘Not had a good day then?’
‘Don’t put words into her mouth, Kelly.’ Mitch tears his eyes away from the television. ‘Christ. You’re soaking.’
‘Did anything happen, sweetie?’ I say, pulling Sophie to me.
‘Don’t fuss her, Kel. Everyone has a first day at school. Everyone survives. All they do on day one is play and listen to stories.’ He chuckles to himself. ‘That and working out who’s the class bully.’
I throw him a look. ‘Don’t say things like that, Mitch. You’re supposed to be making things better not worse.’ Releasing Sophie, I kiss her cheek. ‘Take no notice of silly Daddy. I’ll make some tea and you can tell me all about it after.’
A copy of the Daily Mirror lies on the floor next to a half-eaten packet of crisps. Picking it up, I put it into the magazine rack. As I straighten up again, I see Mitch is still wearing his work jeans from this morning – they’re covered in dried plaster and splashes of paint.
‘Oh, Mitch. You could have changed.’
He grins and wiggles his toes. ‘I took my shoes off. That must be worth half a brownie point at least.’
I’ve never been able to stay cross with him for long. Being careful not to wake the baby, even though the ache in my breasts tells me I should, I lean over and kiss my husband, thinking that I should change my damp top before getting Sophie’s tea. Mitch’s stubble is sandpaper-rough against my cheek, but I don’t care. It’s what I love about my husband, the unapologetic maleness of him. Straightening up again, I pick up the can of lager that’s on the table beside him and the one he’s crushed and dropped onto the floor, wondering as I do if I should be worried.
As I come back from the kitchen, having put the cans in the recycling, I remember the newspaper.
‘Someone put a copy of The Argus through the door.’ I glance back into the hall. ‘Is it something to do with you?’
‘What? No. Get in there!’ Mitch cranes his neck to see around me as the crowd roars, but his excitement turns to a groan as he realises it’s the other team who have scored.
‘Fuck!’
‘Mitch!’
He widens his eyes. ‘What?’
‘Not in front of Sophie.’
He has the decency to look sheepish, nodding towards the TV where a player in a green shirt has just skidded under the legs of another. ‘Sorry, I got sidetracked.’
‘So I see.’
The crowd groans as a ball skims the goalpost. Mitch looks at the screen, then back at me. ‘How was your run?’
‘It was okay. Thank you for collecting the kids.’ I try to keep my voice neutral, not wanting to give away how stressed I’ve felt at not being the one to collect them. ‘Where’s Izzy? She’s very quiet. Is she up in her room?’
His eyes don’t leave the television. ‘She’s round at Maddie’s.’
‘At Maddie’s? Why?’
‘We’d just got back, and she was passing – on her way back from a holistic fair, whatever the hell that is.’ I hear the defensiveness in his tone. ‘Izzy was playing up and I was struggling to undo the clasp on Noah’s buggy. She asked if the twins wanted to go over and see her new kitten. She could see that I had my hands full.’
‘If you couldn’t cope, then you should have let me—’
‘I didn’t say I couldn’t cope.’ He sounds offended.
Not wanting to make things worse, I turn to Sophie. ‘And you didn’t want to see the kitten, sweetie?’
My daughter looks up and shakes her head.
‘She wanted to wait for you,’ Mitch says.
Of course she did. Ever since she was born, Sophie has never liked to be too far away from me – unlike Izzy who’s happy wherever she is as long as there’s something to entertain her. Bending down, I kiss the top of her soft fair head, and feel her small hand reach up to touch my cheek.
Mitch looks at the clock. ‘Where were you anyway? You were gone ages.’
‘I just lost track of the time.’ He doesn’t know about the counting. I haven’t wanted to tell him, sensing he won’t understand. Worried in case he thinks I’m losing it. ‘I’m going to go upstairs and change.’
Just as I get to the stairs, the doorbell rings and Charlie rushes to it, barking madly. It’s a welcome distraction and I go and answer it. As soon as I do, the whirlwind that is Izzy rushes past me. When she reaches the end of the hall, she gives a twirl, then waves her arms in the air.
‘I’ve seen a kitten. I’ve seen a kitten,’ she chants to anyone who might be listening.
‘Lucky you,’ I say, catching her and giving her a squeeze. Pressing my cold cheek against her warm one. ‘Thank you for having her, Maddie. It was kind of you, but there was no need. I’m sure Mitch could have managed.’
Maddie smiles, a dimple showing in her cheek. ‘It was no problem at all. If you want to bring Sophie round to see the little furry monster sometime, you’re very welcome. I don’t want her to miss out.’
‘Thank you,’ I say again, taking in her long, indigo wrap-around skirt, the white T-shirt that clings to her slim body and the orange espadrilles that are completely inappropriate for a rainy day such as this. Her look is bohemian. Not a look I could ever carry off – not until I shift the baby weight anyway. I fold my arms across my chest, aware of how I must look. ‘Maybe I could bring her over at the end of next week… when she’s settled in at school a bit more.’
‘Isn’t she keen? Izzy couldn’t talk about anything else.’
‘No,’ I say, glancing into the living room. ‘Not really.’
Maddie pats me on the arm and I try my hardest not to find it patronising. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine in a week or so,’ she says. ‘I remember being petrified on my first day. Anyway, she has Isabella.’
‘I know. I just hope you’re right.’
Maddie turns to go, but when she reaches the gate, she turns back. ‘I’ve been thinking about Noah. Have you thought of trying baby massage?’
I’m surprised by her question. ‘No, why would I?’
‘It’s just that it can do wonders for soothing a colicky baby. It’s hard when you’re up all night, not knowing what to do.’ She pauses and a flush of pink climbs up her neck as she reads in my face my unspoken question. ‘Mitch told me. He says Noah wakes a lot at night and that you’re finding it hard. I thought I’d just mention it.’
My fingers grip the door frame. How could Mitch be so disloyal? Making it sound as if I’m not coping… even if it’s true. And what right does she have to tell me how to look after my baby? It’s not even as if she’s a mother herself. Only someone who’s carried a baby could understand.
‘Thank you,’ I say stiffly. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
I close the door and rest my back against it, my nails digging into the soft skin of my palms. The newspaper is still on the table where I left it and I pick it up, hoping to find something in it to calm me down before I go back to the others. As I flick through it, I notice that the corner of one of the pages has been folded down. It’s the page with the horoscope on and immediately I see that the symbol for Leo has been circled in red pen. I start to read. This is a time to re-evaluate your life. Looking to the past will help you put things in perspective. This is not the time to be divulging secrets.
There’s a prickli
ng at the back of my neck. My zodiac sign is Leo. Who put this through the letter box? Unable to stop myself, I search for something to count, my eyes alighting on the wooden floorboards that run along the hall. I close my eyes, not allowing myself to cheat. If there are more than twenty, I can relax and forget the stupid newspaper.
I’m just counting them when Mitch calls out to me from the living room.
‘Kel. What are you doing?’
The interruption has made me lose my place and I stop, frustration washing over me. Now I’ll have to start again. ‘Nothing.’
‘Can you come in then? Noah’s woken up.’
I count faster, but Noah’s cries are sudden and impossible to ignore. With a huge effort, I force myself to leave the hall and go into the living room. Noah’s little head, with its soft fuzz of light brown hair, is bumping at Mitch’s broad chest, looking for milk.
‘You’re not going to find anything there, buddy,’ he says, lifting the baby up and settling him on his shoulder. He looks up at me. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I am.’
Taking a deep breath, I hold out my arms so he can pass Noah to me. Mitch looks so comfortable with him, so confident, that I feel a twinge of envy – knowing that as soon as I take him, Noah’s little mouth will pucker, his face will turn red and the crying will start again. A noise that will only stop when I settle him to feed.
‘Good,’ he says, ‘because I’ve been thinking some more about the weekend and I’ve come up with a better idea. One that I know you’re going to love. But I’m not going to tell you what it is; I’m going to surprise you. Surprises are the best thing, don’t you think?’
I look at him, then away again, unsure how to answer. In my experience, surprises are a herald of worse things to come.
7
Kelly Before
The girl who stands behind the young woman with the briefcase looks nothing like the picture Kelly has been holding in her head for the last few hours. Despite being two years older, she’s not much taller than Kelly and in place of the dark brown curls is a halo of pale hair so fine she can see the sun shining through it.
