by Casey Watson
Not to mention how much I worried that if we missed the moment she would fall even further into an educational rut. ‘The truth is that her mood could plunge down at any time,’ I told Paula. ‘As of now, she’s in a place where she knows it’ll be good for her, but any change in her mum’s situation could knock that for six. So you can imagine how anxious I am to get her back into education right away.’
‘I have it prioritised,’ Paula soothed, even though she probably heard this daily, and, in reality, every looked-after child was a priority. ‘And this is all to the good, to be honest, as getting the school to take her should prove a great deal easier than trying to get a tutor to come to her at home. They’re like hen’s teeth currently, honestly. Though there will be other factors, of course – it might well be that she’ll need someone to work with her one on one for a bit, since she’s been out of school so long, so –’
‘I honestly don’t think she’ll need that,’ I told Paula. She knew my background in education, so I knew she’d listen to what I had to say. ‘She’s a bright girl, and she’s been doing work at home that her old school have been sending her. Plus going to the library. She’s a proper bookworm. No worries on that score.’
‘Well, I’ll still mention that a TA to work with her one on one for a bit might be helpful. Might as well, eh?’
Teaching assistants often worked with children one on one for various reasons: because they had physical challenges, perhaps, or were on the autism spectrum, or sometimes, as in Bella’s case, simply because they’d been out of mainstream classes for a while and needed extra support. ‘Oh, absolutely.’ I said. ‘But if they’re short of bodies, really, I think she’ll be fine. She just needs to be back in school, that’s the main thing,’ I told her.
Paula laughed. ‘Message received and understood, sir!’ she said. Did I really sound that much of a sergeant major?
The weekend’s fine weather had decided to be kind to us, giving a little extra help to the daffodils that were now spearing upwards in my flower beds, green and strong. And it was in the garden where I found Bella and Marley Mae, having finished my call. I thought back to what she’d told me about the night she’d spent in hers, and the sequence of events she’d spelled out to me.
Perhaps the gloomy predictions about her mum’s trial were more gloomy than they ought to be. Perhaps sometime soon we’d find the key to unlock the evening that had brought her to us. Perhaps she’d find the wherewithal to sit down and tell me – us, those that needed so urgently to know – and in doing so, not make things worse for Laura Daniels, but better, in painting the full background to it all.
I’d thought long and hard about it, too. Up to now, without evidence to the contrary, from any source, the conflicts in the partnership (as far as I understood things, anyway) appeared to exist separately from Bella. There had never been any suggestion that Adam Cummings had laid a finger on his stepdaughter, or, indeed, that he had abused or neglected her in any way. Rather, it seemed the prosecution were painting an all-too-familiar picture – of a mutually antagonistic relationship between the couple, one in which Bella’s mother, for all that Adam Cummings was known to be the alcoholic, played as much a part in the violent arguments as he did; started and perhaps stoked them, even. And with the feedback from neighbours seeming to corroborate that picture, why wouldn’t she be tried for attempted murder for what she’d done? She’d bludgeoned him on the back of the head with a brick, after all, smashed his skull, and put him in a coma.
But the picture, grim as it was, was skewed; of that I was sure. The picture that was emerging, from the little bits and pieces Bella had told me, was one in which she, Bella, was being horrendously abused – no, not physically hit, but clearly assaulted daily by the proximity of drunken conflict, by chronic fear and insecurity, by the terror, once a row began, of what might happen to her mother, by living day and night in a kind of hell no child should have to endure. No wonder she sought escape in her books.
And I couldn’t help it – call me sexist, but I refused to accept that Bella’s mother was a murderess. No, I’d never met her, but I could at least put myself in her shoes. And however much it might be said that she handled things wrongly – that she shouldn’t have been so quick to be the proverbial red rag to her partner’s bull while her child was in the vicinity – I knew enough to know that no one could know how they’d deal with an alcoholic partner, especially when the well-being of a child was at risk. Who knew? Perhaps she took him on to deflect him from turning on Bella. And perhaps the strain of managing him had pushed her to her limit. Perhaps that night – who knew? – he had started on Bella. Perhaps that’s what had made it different – made her finally snap. Perhaps she’d hit him, not to kill him, but to stop him hurting Bella. And now Bella, this bright girl, with so much self-possession, was keeping silent in order to protect her.
But was she helping her? Increasingly, it didn’t seem so. Specially since I’d had an update from John the previous day, to let me know that Laura Daniels’s lawyers were looking into the possibility of having Adam Cummings charged with a similar offence. Not attempted murder, quite – John was only hazy on the specific details – but certainly a robust response to the charges she was facing, and which had caused a renewed assault on Laura’s character.
But how to convince Bella that the bigger picture might help her mum? I could only wait and listen, and hope the next interaction with Katie the counsellor – still over a week away – might bear fruit.
‘What a gorgeous morning,’ I said to Bella now, joining her and my little granddaughter out on the patio. ‘It feels more like May than March, don’t you think?’
‘I love spring,’ she said, tipping her head back to let the sun rest on her face. Then she turned to me. ‘D’you ever grow sunflowers?’
‘Not lately,’ I said. ‘Though our Levi did a couple of years back. It was part of a project at school. Why d’you ask?’
‘I was just thinking, it’ll be time to plant the seeds soon. You know, if you wanted to. You don’t need pots. You just sow them straight into the ground. Two in each hole, so you can choose the best one. I was thinking you had the perfect place over there.’
She pointed to where the side fence abutted next door’s shed. A distinctly sunny and sheltered spot. ‘I think you’re right,’ I said. ‘Would you like to do that? We could get some seeds from the supermarket while we’re out and about on our errands later, if you like.’
‘Can we?’ she said. ‘I’d love to do that.’
‘I’d love to do that! I’d love to do that!’ parroted Marley, jumping up and down.
I put my arm round Bella and gave her a hug. ‘You know what? So would I.’
And I wondered if we would find ourselves measuring out her time with us in increments of growth. I wondered if she’d had that thought, as well.
On the way into town, for a round trip of shopping, seeds and library while Marley spent an hour with Lauren and Dee Dee, I filled Bella in on the state of play regarding school.
She seemed genuinely pleased. ‘That’s good, then,’ she said. ‘I won’t be a dummy for much longer then. And I’ll soon catch up, won’t I? My old teacher at primary school said that if I’d been born in the old days I’ve have passed the exam to go to a grammar school.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ I told her. ‘And you’re hardly a dummy, sweetie, even with having missed a bit of school. I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time. And, best of all, even if it’s not your own school, it’s a very, very nice one. And you know why I know that?’
‘Because Tyler told you?’
I shook my head. ‘Well, yes, he has, but mostly it’s because I used to work there. Some of my friends still do. And I know they’ll look after you. Anyway,’ I said, as we reached the final junction. ‘Where first? Shops and library, or library and shops?’
‘Library first,’ she said. ‘Then we can look up the best seeds to get.’
‘There’s more than one kind?’
‘Oh ye
s,’ she said. ‘There are lots of different kinds.’
‘Well, I never,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realise. So I’ve learned something today. I tell you what,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to need to catch up at school at all.’
Her answering beam was bright as a sunflower in itself.
Once we were both in the library, I left Bella in the reference section while I went to return the couple of books I had outstanding, then went for a browse in the new fiction section. In other circumstances I’d have happily left her there while I went to run some errands – she was twelve after all; perfectly okay to be left in a library – but the ‘close monitoring’ and ‘special security measures’ I was obliged to maintain following our visitation were never far from my mind. Though I didn’t feel in my bones that Bella was in any danger from Adam Cummings’s shouty ‘sister’, it would be negligent of me not to allow for the possibility of my being wrong. And even if it turned out that this woman was someone Bella knew (and even liked – her row was with Bella’s mother, not her) any interaction with her, pleasant or unpleasant, went entirely against everything being ‘in care’ stood for. Any contact with anyone from her former life had to be on our terms. That was the only safe way to proceed.
And when I finally caught up with her, finding her staring into space at one of the reading tables, her expression was such that I worried that such contact had indeed taken place. I even twisted around to see if I could see a blonde head disappearing.
But it seemed not. Bella had just been poring over some weighty law books and was now staring into space because she was deep in thought.
I looked down at what she’d pulled out, dismayed.
‘You know what they say about a little knowledge?’ I said, as I slipped into the seat bedside her. ‘It’s a dangerous thing. It’s why, if you’re ill, looking up your symptoms is so risky if you’re not a doctor. And unless you’re a lawyer, I’m not sure you should be looking at books like this. I mean, you never know,’ I said, aware that she was looking at me a touch irritably. (And she was right to. I had no business patronising her, and hadn’t meant to.) ‘You could even find something useful. But I warn you, because I’ve done it, that researching about the law is very complicated, and makes for very difficult reading.’
She hefted a book shut. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I just thought I might find something useful about when you hurt someone in self-defence.’
Was she about to open up finally? I crossed my fingers under the table.
‘As in your mum hurting your dad?’ I asked. Which question I knew was fine. I was just asking for context, after all.
She looked at me sharply. ‘Because it was, you know. Whatever he’s told the police. It really was.’
‘And did you tell them that?’
A pause. ‘Maybe,’ she said, suddenly toneless. ‘I don’t remember.’
That ‘toneless’ bothered me. The change in her look, too. I cast a hand over the half-dozen books. ‘So what did you find?’ I asked lightly.
She pulled one towards her. ‘That there’s something called precedents. And that’s what you have to find. Anyway,’ she said, her expression changing again. A smile blooming as she closed a final book ready to put them back again. ‘At least I found out the best sunflower seeds to buy.’
I sighed as we climbed back into the car, bound first for Lauren’s, then on to pick the boys up from school. We had come so close. I knew it. But something was still holding her back. ‘Something’. The word stuck in my brain. It obviously wasn’t simply ‘something’. It was fear. Fear of the consequences of breaking her self-imposed silence.
And all I could do was be there for when the moment eventually came when the stress of keeping it in became too much to bear. Which might not even happen – not until after her mother had been to trial, even, and the future would have been decided without her input.
I could only hope that wasn’t the case, because I still felt so strongly that her testimony could only be helpful.
Right now, however, it was all about getting the kids organised and given a snack, then getting a designated flowerbed ready for its new occupants – thinking about how best to ensure it was safe from both next door’s cat and, down the line, Tyler and Denver’s games of football.
So I wasn’t really taking much notice of the pile of post sitting on the doormat. I simply picked it up and dumped it down on the kitchen table. It was only once I’d got the children’s lunch boxes washed out, and the children themselves were all outside playing, that it claimed my attention.
I was only flipping through idly – a cursory glance earlier had already told me it was mainly junk mail and a couple of utility bills – when a small handwritten envelope, hidden between the latter, caught my eye.
And I knew straight away who it was from. Same writing. Same stationery. Same sparing address. So when she’d paid her friendly visit she still hadn’t noted down the house number.
Keeping an ear out for Bella, I flipped it over and worked a finger into the edge of the seal, then drew it hastily along. Inside was a single sheet, and an even shorter note than last time. Just a couple of lines, written in the same childish hand.
Mrs Watson
Please keep your nose out of what doesn’t concern you. You don’t know anything about anything and you need to remember that. DO NOT fucking slag my brother off to the coppers, okay?
No signature. No ‘concerned citizen’ line, either. We both knew that I knew who she supposedly was. I wonder what had prompted this. How had she even come to the conclusion that I was slagging anyone off to anyone? All I could think of was the information I had passed on to John about Bella’s Hallowe’en disclosures. She might not be his sister but she was obviously pretty close to him if she was already au fait with that. But perhaps it really was that simple. That John had told Kathy, and Kathy had told the police, and that the police had spoken to the lawyers or whoever (the law was bloody complex) and Adam Cummings had now been questioned about what had happened on Hallowe’en night. And was now getting fretful.
I folded the letter back in half. She was clearly keen to fight his corner. And did I think that would involve anything more precipitous than this? No. That Bella might come to harm at her hands at any point? No, again.
Big decisions should be made slowly, their consequences carefully weighed. But all I could think was that if I told John about this letter there would be only one consequence. That they would immediately take Bella away.
No other consequence seemed to take priority over that one. Not even the possible consequences for myself. I put the letter back in the envelope and then gripped it tightly. Then ripped it into as many pieces as I could manage – sixteen, I think – before stepping on the pedal of the pedal bin and dropping them in.
As if it had never even existed.
Chapter 17
I felt tense over the next couple of days – as if I were living on borrowed time. And it wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way, which only made it worse. Nothing like being the master of your own potential downfall to concentrate the mind.
Nevertheless, even though I initially thought ‘What the hell have I just done?’, as anyone sensible would, I soon dismissed the notion. I had only done what I’d needed to do.
Both in my work as a foster carer and previously when I’d worked in schools, I had sailed a little too close to the wind on a couple of occasions, and it was always for the same (and, to my mind, rational) reason. Because I was convinced I was doing the right thing.
Not that sailing that close to the wind was an easy manoeuvre, as any salty seadog would tell you. There was always a trade-off – do the right thing and risk jeopardising your job, or take the safe route on the job front and accept that you might spend the rest of your life regretting it.
Which probably sounds a bit dramatic, but that’s always the dilemma, and it’s my blessing and curse that when I decide something I stick to it. And even if it does make me question
whether it’s worth losing my job, on every similar occasion I’m afraid the answer is yes.
In any event, I only had myself to blame if the powers that be didn’t see the situation in the same way as I did, because, even as I tore it up, I knew that, whatever happened as a consequence – even if it turned out to be nothing – I would at some point have to admit to what I had done. I’m not a dishonest person and I would have to open up at some point and face the consequences, or I knew it would continue to eat away at me.
As it stood right now, however, I was barely conscious of it even nibbling. No, in pride of place on my post-letter-ripping-up mental to-do list was that I had given myself time; time in which I had to get Bella to talk. Or my rash, impulsive act would have been in vain.
In that sense, my push to get Bella back into school was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, going to school might prove a positive catalyst, in that, back among peers, Bella might better visualise her future, but, on the other hand, it meant less time spent with me.
On the whole, though, I was cheerful when the call came from ELAC first thing on the Thursday – not least because Bella being safely in school meant that, should something further happen with Adam Cummings’s spurious sister, chances were she wouldn’t even be around.
‘And it sounds as though there is plenty of scope for her to have some TA support,’ added the ELAC man, who was called Howard, and sounded very posh. ‘At least to take us to the Easter holidays, by which time she will have hopefully settled in. My colleague tells me she’s a bright girl?’
‘Definitely,’ I confirmed.
‘Excellent. That should make a world of difference. Hopefully her recent traumas won’t have set her back too far, but you know as well as I do how often children struggling with their home lives tend to switch off educationally as well. So that’s good news.’
‘It is indeed,’ I said. I knew all too well, from my experiences as a behaviour manager in that same school, how quickly children with emotional and behavioural problems could flounder, and if that went hand in hand – as it often did – with them struggling with their school work, it soon became a doubly destructive spiral; if you couldn’t keep up, you tended to withdraw, which made it harder to contribute to lessons, which meant you fell further behind, which meant you withdrew even more, fearful of the shame and wrath of bullies.
