by Susan Lewis
Chloe was sitting cross-legged on the sofa in her bedroom, her pale face turned towards the window, her eyes seeming not to blink as she stared out at the perfect blue sky.
Charlotte stood at the door, watching her. It was hard to gauge how she might be feeling when she was showing no emotion, and almost never talked about herself in the kind of detail that might have helped Charlotte to gain an insight into how much her past was driving her. It was clearly playing a part in the way she was behaving at school, at home too, but what kind of instincts or urges were behind it was impossible to tell, when Chloe wasn’t old enough to understand, much less articulate, what was happening to her psyche.
Since Charlotte’s professional experience of traumatised children had been to remove them from an abusive home and place them into foster care, thereafter monitoring them from a distance, she had no specialist knowledge of how to handle her daughter. Naturally she’d talked to psychologists, especially this past year, and several had been more than keen to help, but even the best wills in the world had ended up getting them nowhere. On one occasion Chloe had turned violent, on two more she’d flatly refused to engage, and the last attempt had ended in tears and hysterical accusations on both sides.
Just like Polly Greenborough, Charlotte had done plenty of research online, so she was aware that Chloe was likely to be suffering from a variety of problems such as PTSD or ADHD through to attachment difficulties and separation anxiety. How to identify any one – or more – of them in order to attempt treatment was beyond her, and would remain so until she found the right help. It should be so easy, there were so many qualified people out there willing to give their support, but even here, in New Zealand, with so much social backup, it still wasn’t easy to find the right person. It had to be someone Chloe felt able and willing to respond to, and all the credentials in the world couldn’t guarantee this. Charlotte sorely wished she knew how to confront the situation herself, but she didn’t, nor was she going to try. Any attempt to take Chloe back to those terrible times, without the expertise to deal with what might happen if they had Chloe in their grip, would be a reckless and cruel invitation to disaster.
Of course Chloe knew she was adopted; it had come up after Cooper was born, when she’d wanted to know why there weren’t any photos of her as a baby.
Since she’d only been five at the time, and still the sweet, loving child that had won Charlotte’s heart, Charlotte had explained that she was extra special because she, Charlotte, had chosen her when she was three. ‘You were with a different mummy and daddy then,’ she’d said, ‘who weren’t very good at looking after you, and because I loved you very much I went to the courts to ask them to let me be your mummy instead.’
It had been enough at the time, but later, around a year ago, Chloe had wanted to know more, so Charlotte and Anthony had told her how Charlotte had rescued her from the daddy who was doing bad things to her and brought her to New Zealand.
‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ Charlotte had confessed, ‘because everyone in England was looking for you. They thought your bad daddy had killed you, but you were safe with me and I didn’t want anyone to take you away.’
‘Where is he now?’ Chloe had asked, clearly afraid he might come and get her.
‘He’s in prison being punished for what he did to you,’ Anthony reassured her.
In a small, tentative voice, Chloe said, ‘What did he do to me?’
Smoothing her curls, Anthony said, ‘He did all sorts of things that were very wrong.’
‘You don’t do wrong things, do you?’ she asked him.
‘Not like that,’ he promised.
To Charlotte she said, ‘Why didn’t my other mummy save me?’
‘She tried,’ Charlotte assured her, because it was true: as tormented and confused as Erica Wade had been, she’d managed to send an email warning Charlotte of what her husband was doing to their daughter. The fact that Charlotte hadn’t found it until the morning after she’d stolen Chloe away from that dreadful house hadn’t mattered, for it had gone on to provide all the evidence the police had needed to convict Brian Wade for his crimes.
‘Where is she now?’ Chloe asked. ‘Can I see her?’
Gently Charlotte said, ‘I’m afraid she died.’
‘How did she die?’
How did you tell a little girl of seven that her daddy had stabbed her mummy to death the night before the police had come to arrest him – the same terrible night that Erica had sent the email and Charlotte had managed to get Chloe away? You had to tell her as much of the truth as you felt she could handle, was what they’d been advised, so that was what they’d done. Charlotte wasn’t sure, at the time, just how much Chloe was registering, or how she was processing it, for she’d simply sat quietly listening, her lovely dark honey eyes moving between them as they spoke, her small hands clinging tightly to Boots, her treasured old bear.
She was holding him now as she stared out of the window; she always reached for him when she was upset, or feeling lonely and confused. She’d had him the day Charlotte had first seen her, in a park close to her awful home. She’d been just three years old then, and Charlotte’s instincts had told her right away that something was wrong.
Charlotte could see that small girl now, still buried inside the eight-year-old dynamo, and was remembering how drawn she’d felt to her that day, and how Chloe had seemed to feel the same. She’d turned to look at Charlotte as her monstrous father had led her away and in that moment, or perhaps it was even before that, it was as though something quietly insistent had started to link them together.
Where was that link now? It had bonded them so tightly during Charlotte’s struggle to save, then keep her, that Charlotte had truly believed nothing could ever break it.
‘Are you going to look at me?’ she asked, her voice conveying no emotion; she didn’t yet know how to play this.
Chloe shook her head.
‘Then speak to me. Tell me what happened at school today.’
‘I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me.’ Her tone was loaded with resentment, her eyes didn’t move from the window.
‘What wasn’t you?’
‘What they’re saying?’
‘Do you know what they’re saying?’
Chloe fell silent, and the mutinous look Charlotte had come to know well made its appearance. If only it were possible to leave it there, to go no further and pretend this wasn’t happening. Such denial might prevent this developing into the kind of scene Charlotte had come to dread.
‘Who was in the girls’ toilets with you when someone came in?’ she asked.
‘No one.’
‘You were in there on your own?’
Chloe turned her face further away.
‘Do you understand that because of what you did you’re not being allowed to go to school any more?’
Chloe’s face flushed as she said, ‘I don’t care. I don’t want to go.’
‘You used to like school.’ It was true, she’d loved it when she’d first started, aged five, had been a star pupil and could hardly wait to get there each day.
‘I hate school,’ Chloe spat scornfully. ‘And I hate you. You’re always picking on me and I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘You know you have,’ Charlotte insisted, ‘and I think you love me as much as I love you.’
‘No I don’t, and anyway you don’t love me, because NO ONE DOES!’
Flinching at the shouting, while feeling the tragedy of those words, Charlotte said, ‘I love you, Chloe Goodman, and so do Daddy and Cooper …’
‘I don’t want Daddy and Cooper to love me, and anyway they don’t. They just pretend to.’
‘I honestly don’t know where you get this nonsense from, but you have to stop believing it because it isn’t true.’
Chloe mumbled something into her bear.
‘What did you say?’ Charlotte prompted, really hoping she hadn’t heard right.
‘I didn’t say anything.’<
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‘Yes you did, so could you repeat it please?’
Eyes flashing with temper, Chloe cried, ‘My real daddy loves me.’
Charlotte felt as though she’d been slapped. What on earth was Chloe telling herself about that terrible man? Didn’t she remember anything of what he’d done to her, how afraid she’d been of him? ‘You’ve never spoken about him before,’ she said carefully.
Chloe shrugged.
Bracing herself, Charlotte said, ‘Do you want to talk about him now?’
‘No! I want you to go away and leave me alone.’
‘I can’t do that when I know you’re upset.’
‘I’m not upset. I’m angry because you stole me and brought me to New Zealand and I didn’t want to come. I wanted to stay at home with my real mummy and daddy but you wouldn’t let me.’
Oh god, oh god, oh god. How twisted everything was in her mind, how wrong and painful and horribly, tragically confused. How had that happened? They’d tried so hard to ensure she knew she was loved, that they’d fought for her, had done everything in their power to her theirs so she’d feel safe and protected and as special as she deserved to feel. But now here she was talking about being stolen and wanting to go back to her real mummy and daddy.
‘You understand that your real mummy’s dead, don’t you?’ Charlotte said gently.
Chloe’s face darkened. ‘That’s what you say, but how do I know you’re telling the truth?’
Charlotte baulked. ‘Do you honestly believe I’d tell such a terrible lie?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is that you stole me and you shouldn’t have done that when I already had a mummy and daddy.’
Realising she was creating a story that had no basis in reality, Charlotte said, ‘You know that your daddy’s in prison for what he did to you.’
‘He didn’t do anything.’ Chloe’s eyes were wild with the denial, her small chest was heaving with the force of her anger. ‘I want you to go away now,’ she cried. ‘You’re upsetting me and trying to make me believe things that aren’t true.’
‘Chloe, I can’t just …’
‘Go away! This is my room and I don’t want you in here any more. Go away! Go away! Go away!’ She was on her feet, fists clenched, face white with fury as a tirade of unintelligible rage began erupting through her lips. It was as if she was growling, screaming, retching, sobbing all at once; the frustration was so terrible that Charlotte tried to reach her, but Chloe thumped and kicked her way free. ‘Get out! Get out!’ she yelled. ‘You’re a liar and a thief and you’re always blaming me when it’s not my fault. I hate you! I don’t want to be here any more.’ She began throwing things around, smashing a mirror, tearing her clothes, pushing over her dressing table, still shouting and raging.
Charlotte covered her head, knowing better than to fight, for when she was like this Chloe was an unstoppable force.
In the end, Charlotte got to her feet, winced as a shoe thudded into her back, and closing the door behind her she stood against it trying, and failing, to detach from the uproar. Inside she was reeling, though not so much from the violence, she’d seen it before; it was the way Chloe had spoken about her birth parents. It was clear from what she’d said that she had no proper understanding of what had happened to her, or to them.
Going downstairs, she connected to her mother and took the phone out on to the terrace. ‘We must have handled it all wrong,’ she said after bringing Anna up to speed.
‘It’s hard to know a right way, given her background and age,’ her mother sympathised, ‘but take it from me, you’ve done a fantastic job of bringing her up this far. There were always going to be problems. You knew that at the outset.’
‘Did I? If I’d stopped to think about it I’d probably have known, but I wasn’t thinking about it then. It all happened so fast, me taking her, bringing her here, adopting her …’ She took a breath, trying to steady her nerves. ‘If you saw her tempers … I know you have, but if you knew what they were like to live with … She’s got us all on edge, fearful of what she might say or do next and it’s getting worse. One small child and she can fill up the whole house with the anger and frustration going on inside her.’
‘You need professional help.’
‘Of course, but you know how well that’s gone so far. And even if she’d agree, how long is it going to take to straighten her out? Will it even be possible? And what will we all have to go through while we try? I’m already afraid of the impact her behaviour is having on Cooper and Elodie. She steals things from them, she’s cruel to them …’ She didn’t add how worried she was that certain other things might have happened; she had no proof that Elodie’s bruises had been caused by Chloe, and she knew it wasn’t unusual for little boys to play with themselves, so it would be wrong to hang the blame for that on Chloe.
‘Then what are you suggesting?’ her mother asked. ‘That you send her away to get help?’
Shocked, Charlotte cried, ‘No, of course not. She’s already suffered enough rejection, that would only make it worse.’ Quickly checking her phone to see who was calling, she said, ‘I have to take this. Can I ring you back?’
‘I’ll be here.’
Minutes later she was on the line to Rick asking if he could go and deal with a guest’s TV problem, but apparently he had a cellar door full of people and Hamish had popped into the village. Realising she’d have to go to the guest’s aid, and take Chloe with her, she was about to run upstairs to get her when Anthony rang.
‘What news?’ she asked, hastily clicking on.
Sighing, he said, ‘Well, we’ve got the order.’
Frowning at the flatness of his tone, she said, ‘Why am I getting the impression we’re not celebrating?’
‘Because it’s not as straightforward as we’d have liked it to be. I’ll explain when I get home, but the important thing is we can start arranging to move the stock out of Wineworks to make room for last year’s vintage. Are you at the cellar door?’
‘No, I’m at home, but I can go online here. What do you want me to do?’
‘Actually, nothing yet. Let me talk to Will first. Have you seen him today?’
‘No, but I’m sure he’s around somewhere.’
‘OK, I’ll try him and start heading back. Who’s running the cellar door if you’re at home?’
‘Rick and Hamish. When does this distributor want to take delivery of the wine and when can we expect to be paid?’
‘Getting it to them will be more complicated than usual because it’s going abroad, but I’ll talk to the guys at Wineworks about that. Payment is half now, half on delivery.’
Sensing he wasn’t yet ready to admit how much he’d been beaten down on price, she said, ‘Well, at least we’ll have some cashflow to pay Will and Rowan and the young guy Will has helping him. I was starting to worry about that.’
‘Me too. And Zoe’s next instalment is due any time, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll check, but I think you’re right.’ Judging it wiser not to point out that this was an unnecessary expense when Zoe had obviously played a big part in getting the order, she said, ‘Are you coming home before you go to Craggy Range?’
‘Of course. I’ll have to change first, and I need to spend some time in the winery with Will. Christ, what’s that banging? Have we got work going on?’
Practically cowering from the crashing about upstairs, Charlotte said, ‘I’d better go. Drive safely,’ and quickly ending the call she dashed up to the landing to find Chloe hammering her tennis racquet against a radiator.
‘Stop that now, or we’re going to have water everywhere,’ Charlotte shouted, grabbing the racquet.
Letting it go, Chloe ran towards the chaotic bed in her room and threw herself face down.
‘Why were you doing that?’ Charlotte demanded, going after her. ‘If you wanted my attention you just had to call.’
‘I did, but you ignored me.’
‘I didn’t hear you. So what do you want?’
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‘Nothing.’
Rolling her eyes, Charlotte said, ‘I need you to come with me …’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘You have to. You can’t stay here on your own and I …’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Chloe, I’m too busy to play games. Now get up off the bed and come with me.’
‘No.’
‘I said, get up …’
‘And I said no.’
Grabbing her, Charlotte hauled her to her feet and turned her to the door. ‘Let’s go,’ she growled.
Chloe promptly sank to the floor and curled herself into a ball.
Throwing out her hands, Charlotte cried, ‘One of the guests needs me to sort out the TV. I can’t leave you here, so please, Chloe, get up and come with me.’
Chloe didn’t move.
‘Please,’ Charlotte implored.
Still no movement.
Rashly, she exclaimed, ‘I’ll pay you.’
After a moment Chloe said, ‘How much?’
‘However much you want.’
‘Ten million dollars?’
‘Twenty million,’ Charlotte countered.
Chloe’s eyes widened and to Charlotte’s amazement she started to laugh.
Feeling battered and relieved, Charlotte pulled her up. ‘I don’t know why someone wants to watch TV on such a beautiful day,’ she said, ‘but I guess it’s none of our business.’
‘Can you take me to poi tonight?’ Chloe asked as they got into the car. ‘I want you to come and watch me instead of Rowan.’
Charlotte hesitated, trying to decide on the best way to handle this, for poi dancing was one of Chloe’s favourite after-school classes. She’d even made her own poi sticks, but how could she be allowed to carry on as though being suspended from school didn’t matter?
