First published in Great Britain in 2017
by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited
The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN
Text copyright © 2017 Penny Joelson
First e-book edition 2017
ISBN 978 1 7803 1783 0
Ebook ISBN 978 1 4052 8615 2
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
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For Michael and Zoe
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
1
I tense as soon as I hear the doorbell. I know it’s him. I know it’s Dan. Sarah’s still upstairs getting ready and I hope she comes down soon. I don’t want him coming in here.
Mum calls up to Sarah and I hear her say she’ll be down in a tick. ‘We’ve been keeping her busy, I’m afraid,’ Mum tells Dan, ‘so she hasn’t had much time to get ready!’
‘Ah, I know she wouldn’t have it any other way,’ says Dan. ‘She’s a diamond – and you too. What you do for these kids.’
I listen to them chatting away and Mum laughing at Dan’s jokes. Everyone loves Dan. Then Mum says she must get back to the kitchen, she’s left things on the stove and she’s sure Sarah won’t be long.
It’s quiet for a moment. I hear the distant clattering of pans in the kitchen. Then I hear Dan’s voice, coming closer as he speaks.
‘What are you watching, then? Ah – Pointless !’
I can hear him breathing. Then he whispers, ‘Bit like your life, eh, Jemma?’
He’s standing behind me now, but I can’t see him because my wheelchair is facing the TV. I try to focus on the quiz questions and forget he’s there, but he gives a long, dramatic sigh.
‘Don’t know how you can bear it.’ His voice is low, not loud enough to be overheard. ‘Watching the telly must be the most excitement you get.’ He only speaks like this when no one else is around. He used to ignore me completely, but not any more.
He moves so he is in front of me, blocking my view of the TV. Grimacing, he leans forwards. I get a gulping feeling, a tightness in my throat.
‘If I were you, I’d top myself,’ he whispers.
My heart thuds as he rubs his head thoughtfully.
‘Oh, yeah – you can’t, can you? Listen,’ he continues, ‘if you ever want a bit of help, I could –’
We both hear footsteps on the stairs. Dan backs away. His face transforms from ugly sneer to fake grin, his features softening as if they have been remoulded.
‘I’d have done better than that pair!’ he laughs, pointing to the telly. ‘Reckon we should go on this, eh, Sarah?’
I get a waft of Sarah’s perfume, which is quickly overtaken by the smell of onions frying in the kitchen.
‘I’m useless at quizzes,’ she laughs as she comes into view. ‘I bet Jemma could do it, though, if she had the chance.’
I don’t know about that, although I do sometimes get the right answers. It’s possible I’d be better than Sarah. She’s a brilliant carer, but she’s not too clever when it comes to general knowledge – or boyfriends.
At the edge of my vision, I see her kiss Dan softly on the lips.
Watching them, my own mouth feels suddenly dry.
The pair playing Pointless are out. They look very disappointed.
Dan and Sarah only have eyes for each other. ‘Ready?’ Dan smiles at Sarah. ‘You look stunning, babe.’
She nods and turns to me. Her eyes are sparkly, her cheeks flushed. ‘Bye, Jem. See you in the morning.’
‘See you, Jemma,’ says Dan. He winks at me.
2
‘Sorry to leave you so long, pet!’
Mum bundles into the room and I’m relieved to hear her warm, soft voice. She switches off the telly and pushes my wheelchair into the kitchen, to my place at the end of the table.
I hear the car on the drive. Dad’s back from taking Finn to his swimming lesson and picking up Olivia from ballet. Soon the kitchen is noisy and cheerful, as usual, and I push Dan out of my mind.
Olivia’s boasting to Mum about how good her dancing was and I watch as she shows Mum the new steps, while Mum tries to get her to sit down at the table. She’s nine and has only been here a year. We’re all fostered – I’ve been here since I was two and so has Finn, who’s nearly six. I’ve heard Mum say Olivia was ‘hard to place’. Maybe that goes for Finn and me too, though Olivia’s problems are different from ours. Finn is autistic, and right now is lining all his beans up neatly on the plate with his fingers. He’s obsessed with straight lines. Olivia’s a whirlwind – sometimes a tornado – and she’s loud. Finn and I don’t speak, so life is very different and much noisier since she came.
‘Sit down, Olivia!’ Dad says in his ‘firm but kind’ voice, and Olivia finally does. At least she doesn’t start one of her tantrums.
Mum serves up Dad’s shepherd’s pie and beans then starts feeding me my mushed-up version. Dan’s words creep back into my head while I’m eating and I try to shut them out.
‘If I were you, I’d top myself. Listen, if you ever want a bit of help, I could – ’
I can’t believe he said it – as if my life is worth nothing!
Olivia is wolfing down her food like she’s never eaten before. She’s skinny, but she has a huge appetite. Finn isn’t eating. He’s still lining up his beans, concentrating as if his life depends on it.
‘Come on, Finn,’ Dad coaxes. ‘Time to eat them now.’
But Finn clearly doesn’t think his line is straight enough.
‘Finn, my love,’ says Mum gently, ‘why don’t you start with the pie?’
I don’t think Finn is listening to Mum, but I think he’s happy now with his line of beans. In any event, he forks a small amount of shepherd’s pie into his mouth.
Mum spoons some more into mine.
‘I saw Paula earlier,’ she tells Dad. ‘She look
s dreadful, the poor woman.’
‘Still no news, then?’ Dad asks.
Mum shakes her head.
‘News about what?’ Olivia demands.
Paula lives down the road, and her son, Ryan, was murdered last month. He was nineteen and he was stabbed to death and no one knows who did it. Everyone’s talking about it, though – it’s even been on the radio.
Dad quickly changes the subject.
‘Finn’s swimming like a fish now,’ he tells Mum. ‘He’s come on so fast.’
‘And I was really good at ballet!’ Olivia says, never wanting to be left out.
‘I’m sure you were,’ says Dad.
‘How was school?’ Mum asks Olivia.
Olivia shrugs.
Olivia never wants to talk about school. It’s like it’s some big secret for her.
I have no secrets of my own. I’ve never done anything without someone knowing about it. I’m fourteen years old and I have severe cerebral palsy. I am quadriplegic, which means I can’t control my arms or legs – or anything else. I can’t eat by myself. I can’t go to the loo without help. I can’t move without someone lifting me with a hoist or pushing me in a wheelchair. I also can’t speak.
I’ve been this way all my life. I can see, though, and I can hear, and sometimes people forget that; they don’t realise that I have a functioning brain. Sometimes people talk about me as if I’m not even there. I hate that.
And sometimes people tell me their secrets. I think it’s because it’s quite hard to hold a one-way conversation. If they are alone with me, they want to talk to pass the time and they end up telling me stuff. They know I won’t tell anyone else so they think telling me is safe. The perfect listener.
Sarah told me her secret. She’s cheating on Dan. She’s still seeing Richard, her old boyfriend, because he’s so sweet and she can’t bear to hurt him by breaking up with him. Neither of them knows the other exists.
I’m always worried when Sarah has a boyfriend, although I enjoy the way she gossips to me about them. She has this dream of a fairy-tale wedding – she’s even shown me pictures of her ideal wedding dress online. I know I should want her to be happy – and I do. It’s just that I’d miss her so much if she went off to get married. She’s the best carer I’ve had.
More than that, I don’t want her to marry someone who isn’t good enough for her. And I definitely don’t want her going off to marry Dan.
3
Sarah’s in a great mood when she’s back on duty the next morning, though I can tell she’s got a hangover and is trying to hide it. She’s drinking loads of coffee. She clearly had a good night out with Dan and is singing a track by our favourite band, Glowlight.
She’s wheeling me from my bedroom to the kitchen when I hear the clunk of post landing on the mat. Sarah stops to pick it up and puts the small pile of letters on the kitchen table.
‘Oh look – one for you, Jemma,’ she comments. As she pushes me into my place, I see that the top letter, though addressed to Mum and Dad, has my name on it too – Parents/guardians of Jemma Shaw. I rarely get post. I wonder what it could be?
Mum picks up the pile and glances down. Then she quickly moves my letter to the bottom and puts them all on the kitchen counter. Sarah doesn’t seem to notice.
Now I am even more curious. Why doesn’t Mum want to open it?
After breakfast Sarah goes to get Olivia ready and Dad gets up to leave for work. Mum follows him out into the hallway to kiss him goodbye. Their voices are muffled, but I can pick out Mum’s words. She says, ‘There’s been another letter. I haven’t read it yet, but I think we’ll have to tell her.’
I strain to hear Dad’s reply. ‘Yes – she is family. Jemma has a right to know.’
Family? What are they talking about? If only I could ask. It sounds like they’re planning to tell me. I just have to hope that they do.
Dad’s gone and Sarah’s in the kitchen with me, easing my arms gently into my coat, ready for school. I’m conscious that my letter is still there, at the bottom of the pile on the counter.
Olivia’s moaning that she can’t find her reading book.
Mum sighs. ‘When did you last have it, Olivia?’
Olivia shrugs. ‘Dunno.’
‘Have a look in your bedroom, will you?’ Mum tells her.
Olivia slopes off slowly towards the stairs.
‘Sarah, can you go with her? I can’t see it down here.’
‘Sure,’ says Sarah. ‘You’re ready, Jemma. That’s one down at least!’ She hurries off after Olivia.
‘Where’s Finn’s water bottle?’ Mum mutters to herself. ‘I’m sure I washed it yesterday. I bet you know where I put it, Jemma.’
As it happens, I do know. I saw it fall off the draining board and down behind the bin.
The doorbell rings and Mum wheels me towards the door. We never know if it will be my minibus or Finn’s cab that comes first. Today it’s the cab that takes Finn to his special school.
Mum sighs and pushes a spare green water bottle into Finn’s bag, which is not going to please Finn as he always has the blue one. She helps him with his coat and gives his hair a quick comb. He wriggles away as fast as he can and out the front door with his taxi escort, Jo.
‘Reading book found,’ Sarah says, coming down the stairs.
‘I hope you said thank you, Olivia?’ says Mum, though she knows full well that Olivia hasn’t.
‘It wasn’t me who lost it, Lorraine!’ Olivia protests. ‘Why do you always have a go at me? It’s not my fault!’
She stamps her feet and I’m relieved when the doorbell rings again so I can leave before Olivia starts screaming.
But all I think about as the minibus jolts along the road is the letter. I try to work out what Mum and Dad were talking about. Family? Mum has an aunt and Dad has a brother, but we don’t see much of them as they live a long way from here. Were they talking about their family? Or . . . or could it be mine – like my natural mum, the one who gave birth to me and then dumped me? Could she have finally decided she wants to see me?
I hope it’s not her. I don’t want to see her – not ever! She probably only wants to get a look at me and gawp. I hope Mum and Dad tell her to get lost.
As soon as Dad is back in the evening I am waiting for them to talk to me – but they don’t say anything. I couldn’t even see my letter in the kitchen at dinner time. The whole pile had gone. Have they changed their minds or are they waiting for Finn and Olivia to be in bed, so they can talk about it? I’m not exactly looking forward to a conversation about my birth mum, but waiting for it and wondering about it is even worse.
Dad washes up while Mum and Sarah put Finn and Olivia to bed. It seems like it takes forever, even though I know it is probably just the normal amount of time. But then, finally, when it’s nearly my bedtime and I’m watching TV on my own, Mum and Dad both come in. Mum pauses the TV and Dad turns me round to face the sofa and sits down, looking serious.
He has the letter in his hand. I get a surge of relief mixed with panic.
‘We’ve got something to tell you, Jemma,’ he says gently. ‘Something important.’
My heart is beating so fast. Suddenly I don’t want to hear – I don’t want to know.
‘We’ve had a letter,’ Dad continues, ‘from social services.’ He pauses, as if unsure how to carry on.
Mum sits down beside him. ‘Jemma, I know this is going to be a bit of a shock and I will explain why we haven’t told you before . . .’
I wait.
Dad reaches out and touches my hand. ‘You’ve got a sister, Jemma.’
What?
A sister?
Mum sighs and smiles. ‘Her name’s Jodi.’
I try to take it in. The shock is making me breathless. A sister. I was so sure it was my birth mum wanting to see me. A sister – a sister is something completely different.
‘The thing is,’ Mum continues, ‘we knew she wasn’t told about you. So we thought it might be upsetting
for you to know about her. But she found your name mentioned in some papers and . . . I’m sorry, Jemma. It’s been hard to know what to do.’
They knew! All this time Mum and Dad have known that I have a sister. So many feelings are swirling round inside me. The thought of them not telling me makes me angry – but Mum’s right. It would have been hard knowing about her if she was never going to know about me. I am still in shock, but I’m curious too.
A sister. My sister. I start to wonder what she’s like – how old she is . . .
‘The papers Jodi found, they were her adoption papers,’ Mum continues. ‘You and Jodi were split up when you were taken into care. Your natural mum couldn’t cope – she had a lot of problems. She was very young, and on her own.’
I’ve sometimes imagined it – my mum giving me up. I could even picture her face, horrified at her own baby, unable to cope with what I was. But there were two of us – two children. That idea never entered my head. And she couldn’t look after my sister either. Is my sister disabled too? I’m not sure what to make of this – but I know it changes things. It changes everything.
‘Jodi’s been asking if she can . . . contact you,’ says Dad, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I get a surge of excitement that quickly sinks when I think what they would have had to tell Jodi – that I can’t exactly contact her back.
‘She’s been persistent, but we weren’t sure if it was a good idea,’ says Mum. ‘It’s so hard when you can’t tell us how you feel about it. . . . But we’ve told her about you, and we’ve said she can write to you. I hope it’s what you want, Jemma. I really do.’
My sister! I’m still finding it hard to believe that I have one. I wonder how much she’s been told about me. Will she really want to know me once she finds out what I’m like? I am thrilled, though. I can’t wait to know more about her. She’s going to write to me! My sister is going to write to me!
4
‘I still can’t believe you’ve got a sister and no one told you!’ Sarah exclaims, as she picks up a book to read to me in bed. ‘I knew nothing, Jemma. Your mum and dad never even mentioned her.’
I definitely believe her – if Mum and Dad had told Sarah about Jodi she’d have let something slip. She’d never keep something like that from me.
I Have No Secrets Page 1
