The Foster Child

by Jenny Blackhurst

  35

  Imogen

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ is the first thing Ellie says when I walk into the health and social care suite. She was on her feet as soon as I entered the room and is now standing with her arms crossed defiantly across her chest. Still, even with her tough-girl stance, she looks so tiny that I want to give her a massive hug. I know what it is like to go days, weeks, months even without something as simple as a grown-up’s embrace; hugs are one of those things that regular kids from regular families take for granted. The rules are there for a reason, Imogen, that voice in my head warns me. Then, against any better judgement I might have – and I don’t think that’s a lot right now – I cross the room and wrap my arms around Ellie’s shoulders, pulling her so close and holding her so tightly that I can feel the little girl’s body tremble.

  ‘I know you didn’t.’ I break the hug and hold her at arm’s length. ‘This wasn’t your fault. That painting should never have been where it was. It was an accident, that’s all. An accident.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘If you say you didn’t that’s enough for me. Honestly Ellie, what can I do to make you believe that I trust you?’

  ‘I just don’t know why, that’s all.’ Her chin juts out and she reminds me of someone. She reminds me of me. ‘Why would you trust me? No one else does. Maybe they’re right and you’re wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t trust me either.’

  She’s just being pedantic, testing me to see how far my loyalty to her goes, and I know that but still her words sound more like a threat than a childish strop and they send shivers up my arms.

  ‘Well that’s a risk I’m going to have to take,’ I say slowly, watching her face. She gives no sign of what she’s thinking, staring straight back at me so unflinchingly that I am the one to break and look away first. I turn to walk towards the desk, perch myself on the edge. Ellie turns to study the spines of the books on the shelf behind her. When she speaks her voice is casual and I almost don’t catch what she is saying.

  ‘You shouldn’t be taking risks in your condition.’

  If it’s possible for a heart to skip a beat, mine does. ‘What did you say?’

  Ellie turns and looks at me, her face full of an innocence that I can’t tell if it’s real or fake. ‘I said you shouldn’t take risks in your position.’

  I nod, feeling foolish at my overreaction. Of course I’d misheard, there was no way she said ‘condition’. Because that would mean she knows about the baby. And that would be impossible.

  36

  Ellie

  Ellie watches the moth’s wings batter furiously against the inside of the glass and wonders if it will die soon. At eleven years old, she has experienced more death than anyone she knows, but she isn’t afraid of it. No, her parents are dead and they aren’t suffering now, are they? They are either in heaven, together with her brother, or they are nothing, dust, ash. Even nothing has to be preferable to the life she’s living now. Anger surges up inside her. She feels like the moth, beating its wings against the glass. And everyone outside the glass is just watching, interested to see what she will do next. When she doesn’t even know herself.

  She lifts the glass slightly, just enough to let some air in, just enough to let the moth breathe a little. She isn’t ready to let go of the only thing that can’t leave her, but she knows that sooner or later she is going to have to let it fly free. It isn’t going to be easy to watch the moth flutter happily through the window when she remains stuck here in this life, but she isn’t sure she can leave it to suffocate. After all, she’s never killed anyone, anything. Not yet, anyway.

  She thinks back to dinner that evening, when Billy the Mean spent the entire time poking her with his fork and hoping she’d retaliate, get into trouble. He never seems satisfied unless someone is in trouble; he doesn’t even seem to care if it’s himself. He was a mild irritation this evening, like when Riley used to cry because he was tired instead of just going to sleep, but when she refused to rise to his stupid immature behaviour, he upped his game. At first he just hissed things at her about having no family, no friends, nothing worse than the kids at school said, and Mary shoved his arm and gave him a warning look. At least someone realises what he’s like. Sarah thinks the sun shines out of his backside

  Then, when dinner was almost over without event, Billy turned to Sarah and said, as sweetly as could be, ‘Would you like me to load the dishwasher?’

  She beamed as though he’d offered to clean the whole house for a week.

  ‘Thanks, Billy, if only the girls were that helpful!’ She laughed as though she was joking, and Mary turned to Ellie and rolled her eyes. Ellie grinned, pleased to be in on the joke, pleased to feel like an insider in the family, until Billy walked past her and hissed, ‘Better not let Ellie do it. If she’s as stupid as her mother, we’ll all be dead by morning.’

  The anger burst through her so hard it nearly knocked her off her feet. Anger like she’d never known it was possible to feel, anger she had never felt in her entire life. Before she’d even thought about what she was doing, like her body belonged to someone else entirely, she launched herself at the boy, wrapping her fingers around his throat and shoving him so violently against the dinner table that the whole thing shook. It didn’t matter that she was two years younger than him, or half his weight soaking wet; in that moment alone she had the strength of a fully grown man. Billy’s eyes widened in fear as he seemed to realise that he had gone too far.

  ‘You want to shut your filthy little mouth,’ Ellie hissed, her mouth so close to his face that a small glob of spittle landed on his cheek. Her voice didn’t even sound like her own and she felt as though this new Ellie, this other Ellie, could crush his windpipe just by thinking about it. ‘Before someone shuts it permanently.’

  The entire table, just seconds ago stunned into silence, now burst into life. Mary was shouting, ‘Ellie, stop!’ while Sarah screamed at her to let Billy go and Mark flew to her side, pulling her fingers from around the boy’s neck. Billy slumped to the floor, gasping, and in an instant Sarah was at his side, holding his head close to her chest as though he were a baby. Ellie blinked and looked at the scene in front of her in shock. What had happened? Where had that come from? She looked down at her hands, which seconds ago had been so strong and were now shaking furiously.

  ‘You get to your room, young lady!’ Sarah screamed, rounding on her. ‘And don’t come out until morning!’

  Ellie fled the room without a backwards glance, shoving past Mary, who was standing in the doorway, fear and shock etched on her face.

  37

  Billy opens his eyes and for a second wonders what it was that startled him awake. Was it the sound of his door closing? Probably just Mrs Jefferson come to wish him goodnight, give him one last kiss before bed. She always does that; it’s a bit weird, he thinks, and he’s not entirely sure he likes it. His own mum never did anything like that, just left him to put himself to bed after he’d made tea for him and his brothers. It feels strange to have these people around him who don’t expect him to do everything for himself. It’s almost like it’s too good to be true, and he knows that it won’t last; it never does. He’ll be moved on before long, when these people get fed up of him.

  He just can’t ever seem to get it right, to fit in the way the other kids seem to be able to. He’s never been taught to be in a normal family. He longs for things to be like the old days, when he and his brothers would tease each other and play-fight. They’d be mean and nasty to each other sometimes, but they loved each other really, and they all knew that if they ever needed one other, they would be there. The strange people he has been put with are nice; they give him everything he needs – he has hot food, a nice warm bed and he never has to lie on smelly sheets or sleep on the floor if he’s forgotten to put the bins out. So why does he miss his mum so much? If this is the perfect life, why does he want to go home? And go home he will. If he is horrid enough, they will decide no one wants him and th
at he’ll be better off back with his real family. His mum might be useless, but she is familiar and safe. He never felt like he didn’t belong when he was at home.

  What time is it? His lips feel dry, like when he has a cold, and he puts out his tongue to lick them. Only his tongue won’t run over his lips, won’t come out of his mouth at all. It’s like when you’ve been sleeping all night and you have so much sleep in your eyes that the next day they won’t open properly. Only it’s his lips that won’t open. He pulls at them with his fingers, wincing in pain and panicking as tiny bits of skin begin to peel away. He tries to scream, to shout for help, but without being able to open his mouth, no real sound comes out. Hot, panicked tears sting at his eyes, and he flings himself out of bed, races towards his bedroom door and onto the landing.

  The house beyond is silent. Just the dull echo of voices coming from the TV in the front room downstairs. Mr and Mrs Jefferson are still awake. He runs for the stairs, pulling in deep breaths through his nose, but he doesn’t seem to be able to breathe fast enough. If he doesn’t get more air into his lungs, surely he will die. He trips on the third to top stair, loses his footing and clatters down to the bottom, his head smashing against the wall and exploding in pain. He feels a thin line of warm blood trickle down from his mouth. The door to the front room flies open and Mrs Jefferson stands there.

  ‘Billy!’ she screams. ‘What the . . .?’ She kneels down next to him, takes in his frightened expression. ‘Why is your lip . . .?’ She runs a finger along the line of blood on his chin; there is a look of horror on her face as realisation dawns, and it’s that look that scares Billy more than anything else. When adults get that look, you’re really in trouble.

  ‘Mark!’ she screams. ‘Mark, get out here now! Call an ambulance! Do something!’

  38

  Imogen

  I’ve arranged to meet Sarah at the only coffee shop in town – a strategic move on my part because I knew exactly what she was going to say from the moment I took her call. I’m clutching a mug of decaf tea as insipid as the worn-out plastic gingham tablecloth like it’s a protective charm.

  ‘It was her, I know it was.’ She rubs a hand wearily over her eyes. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

  ‘Why does it matter to you whether I believe you or not?’ I gaze out of the window at the two girls sitting miserably in the car outside, waiting for Sarah. ‘If you have a reason to believe it was Ellie, you need to speak to her social worker, and possibly the police.’

  As it happens, I don’t believe her. The Ellie I know would not superglue a young boy’s lips together; she just wouldn’t.

  ‘You barely know her,’ Sarah accuses. ‘She’s said nothing to you, has she? You have no idea what she’s really like. What was the point of Florence even getting you people involved?’

  I sigh. The incidents with Ellie are much more frequent now, and I know I’m going to have to hand the case over – this new claim is way beyond anything Place2Be is designed to deal with. But I promised myself I would help her, and so far I feel like I’ve done nothing for the girl.

  ‘Florence Maxwell referred Ellie to Place2Be on the advice of Ellie’s social worker to provide Ellie with the support and guidance she might not be getting elsewhere.’ If Sarah notices the barb, she doesn’t comment; I get the impression she is so wrapped up in her own problems that I could have outright accused her of failing Ellie completely and she would have responded with ‘hmm’.

  ‘This is not fair. Something has to be done about that girl, and if no one in authority will do it . . .’ Sarah lets the sentence hang.

  I hold up a hand. ‘Please do not finish that sentence in front of me. Look.’ I sigh again. ‘Mrs Jefferson, according to the hospital, Billy had been playing with superglue earlier that evening. There were traces of it on his hands and he admitted he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t wiped his mouth and got the glue on his own lips. As difficult as this might be for you to accept, especially given that Billy shouldn’t really be messing about with superglue unsupervised . . .’

  ‘Didn’t you hear what she said to him at dinner?’ Sarah ignores the implication that Billy’s accident is most likely due to her own negligence. There seems to be nothing I can say to make her realise that she is going to have to accept some responsibility for what happened two nights ago. ‘Have you asked her about that?’

  ‘Ellie said there had been a disagreement . . .’

  ‘Yes – where she told him to shut his mouth before she shut it permanently. Then he wakes up with his lips stuck together! Tell me that’s a coincidence, Mrs Reid.’

  ‘It was an unfortunate choice of words, certainly . . .’

  ‘Oh, forget it.’ Sarah snatches her mobile phone off the table and stands up so quickly her chair almost falls over. Her face is flushed and her jaw set in a hard line that gives me the impression that she is clenching her teeth to hold her words in. ‘You’re clearly on that girl’s side.’

  ‘I’m not on anyone’s side, Mrs Jefferson,’ I say, for once keeping my cool. ‘This isn’t about sides. My job is simply to get Ellie the support she needs.’

  ‘And what about the support we need?’

  ‘I won’t say anything to Ellie’s social worker about what you’ve told me today,’ I say. ‘This is clearly an emotional time for you. However, when I write my report, I will be recommending that Ellie moves foster carers. On the basis of what you’ve said to me today, I don’t feel a hundred per cent confident that she should be in your care any longer.’

  Sarah looks shocked. ‘Are you saying she’s not safe with us? Are you trying to imply that we would hurt her?’

  I fix her with a stony stare. ‘Your words exactly were “Something has to be done about that girl, and if no one in authority will do it . . .”’ I let the words hang in the air, just as Sarah did moments before. They hit their target.

  ‘I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t saying that . . .’ she stammers. ‘I wouldn’t hurt her, obviously.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d be pleased that my recommendation is that Ellie be moved. Isn’t that exactly what you want?’

  If I’m not mistaken, I see something like fear pass across the other woman’s eyes. ‘It’s just that, in the past, when people have upset her . . .’

  ‘You’re not suggesting that if Ellie gets moved on, she might do something to hurt you? You do realise how ridiculous that sounds? She’s an eleven-year-old girl.’

  Sarah points a finger at me. ‘Don’t you tell me what’s ridiculous,’ she snaps. ‘You haven’t seen it first-hand. You haven’t been there.’

  I smile, ready to say something condescending.

  ‘Don’t you dare smirk at me!’ Sarah shouts. A few people in the café turn to look at us now. ‘You sit there like you know all there is to know about the world when you’re barely out of training bras. Well one day you will know, one day you’ll find out exactly what she’s like and you’ll be back to apologise to me. I just hope it won’t be too late for you.’ And she turns on her heels and stalks from the table, leaving me sitting there alone, stunned and bewildered.

  39

  Ellie

  Ellie sits in the back seat, her head resting against the cool glass of the window. She can see her foster mother talking to Imogen inside the café. As she watches them, she feels the hope inside her slip away, like it’s a tumour that has been cut out of her. She wonders what her foster mother is saying to the woman; whatever it is, she knows it can’t be good. Sarah still blames her for what happened to Billy, despite what the doctor at the hospital said.

  ‘She’s never going to help me now,’ Ellie mutters. From the front of the car, where Mary is sitting wearing her headphones, the older girl turns around.

  ‘Did you say something, Ellie?’ she asks.

  Ellie shakes her head. ‘No. It doesn’t matter,’ she says miserably. ‘It was nothing.’

  But it wasn’t nothing. When Ellie was with Imogen, she finally felt like there was some hope ba
ck in her life. Like someone was on her side. The woman made her feel like she couldn’t possibly be responsible for the things that had been happening since she moved to this town – like there was no such thing as evil and that bad thoughts didn’t always make you a bad person. Now, thanks to Sarah, that is over and everyone who matters thinks she is rotten to the core. She will be abandoned again; there is no chance left for her here. Like a snake twisting and writhing inside her, the anger rears its head.

  40

  Imogen

  The darkness draws in around me and the cold comes hand in hand with it. I give an involuntary shiver, pull my coat tighter around myself and walk a little faster. The trees and bushes that line the path either side of me make dusk feel like midnight, and I wish, not for the first time, that I’d chosen the lighter path. It is an extra ten minutes on my journey home, but the chances of shadowy creatures lurking in the bushes, or me losing my footing and ending up in what was once a canal and now resembles an overgrown swamp, are smaller. I regard the luminous green algae resting on top of the black water and resolve that from now on, I won’t be so impatient to put my feet up with a cup of tea. After what happened this morning with Sarah Jefferson, I wish more than ever that I could pour myself an extra-large glass of wine. Just another thing I have this baby to thank for.

  The silence that solidified around me the moment I noticed it is broken by a cracking sound in the bushes to my left. I pause momentarily, sneak a furtive look at where the noise came from and, on seeing no immediate danger, pick up my pace once again. My feet are numb inside my impractical high-heeled shoes and I will them to move faster. There is nothing to be afraid of, I tell myself. There’s nothing there. Just don’t come this way again.