‘A complaint?’
‘Okay, I suppose that’s a bit strong. More of a concern, really.’
‘From someone here?’ I’m not sure what would be worse: the idea that one of my colleagues has gone to my boss, or the thought that it’s something to do with that message.
‘No. I spoke to your team.’ Edward smiles, as though that will sweeten the blow he is about to deliver. ‘I wanted to get some idea whether there was a real problem here. They all said that you are hard-working and conscientious. Which is what worries me about the concern that has been raised. That maybe you are a bit too conscientious at times.’
‘I don’t see how that can be a—’
‘It’s about Ellie Atkinson.’
I was expecting it, but still the words are like a knife in my chest. Stay silent. Don’t say anything. Don’t fuck this up. That was my downfall last time: my passion. My unwavering self-righteous belief in my own infallibility.
‘The person who called me wanted to express that they weren’t trying to cause trouble.’
I imagine Florence Maxwell’s simpering voice. She was obviously on the phone to Edward as soon as I left her office after vowing to make a complaint about her. Now anything I do say will look like sour grapes. Well played, Florence, well played indeed.
Edward is still speaking. ‘They felt that I should be aware of your growing relationship with Ellie Atkinson. Sh— they are worried that it is stretching the professional boundaries, and if I’m honest, after taking to your colleagues, so am I.’
I dig my fingernails into my palm to remind me not to react without thinking, not to lose my cool, not this time. I should have put an elastic band on my wrist like that psychiatrist suggested. Right before he prescribed me a shedload of drugs for my breakdown. The fact is that everything Edward has said so far is right; all I can do is try to trivialise it, make it seem like an overreaction on Florence Maxwell’s part.
‘I was just trying to do my job,’ I say, keeping my voice low. ‘I probably did hold on to the case longer than would usually be necessary, but that was just because I didn’t feel Ellie was getting the help she needed quickly enough.’ I don’t mention the strange connection I feel to the girl; how, despite my numerous other cases, this is the one I think about day and night.
‘And we appreciate that,’ Edward replies. I wonder whether ‘we’ is him and Florence Maxwell. ‘If I’m honest, we could do with having more people on the team like you. But the fact is, we don’t. We don’t even have five full-time members of staff to deal with a lot of vulnerable children and adults. Unfortunately that means that sometimes we can’t dedicate the time we’d like to individual cases. We have to do what we can and then refer them on to the agencies who can give them proper, regulated care.’ He emphasises the word and raises his eyebrows as he does. He knows about the shopping trips, then.
But how can I explain? How can I explain that I feel as though I’ve been compelled back here, to Gaunt; that everything that has happened over the past twelve months has led me to help this one little girl? That not one of the other people on my list of cases matters to me – I can’t even remember half of their names.
‘You can’t just leave her there, in the care of those people. Do you know what happened to her two nights ago? Do you know what those children did? What the adults we pay to care for her are saying about her?’
Edward sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. ‘Imogen, I hoped this wouldn’t come up; I hoped you would just agree to stay away from this case and that would be the end of it. But I’m well aware of the wild accusations you have been making against Florence Maxwell and her staff, one of whom sadly passed away just a few weeks ago.’
I feel like he’s slapped me in the face. ‘The accusations I have been making?’
‘Yes. About children in the woods, and witchcraft and the like. I’ve spoken to Florence Maxwell and she was very nice about the whole thing, very understanding; she’s aware of how fond you have grown of Ellie and she is certain you believe you are acting in her best interests. However, these accusations against her pupils and staff have got to stop.’
‘Have you spoken to Ellie? To Sarah Jefferson? She was there when I took Ellie home; she wanted to call the police, would have called the police if Ellie hadn’t begged her not to.’
‘I spoke to Sarah Jefferson myself this morning.’ Edward’s voice is sharper now; he’s losing patience. ‘She said there was a game in the woods, that Ellie and some friends had been messing around when you showed up out of the blue and dragged her home under the guise of rescuing her. She said she did indeed want to call the police, and that Ellie begged her not to because she didn’t want you to get into trouble. Now, I . . .’ Seeing the look on my face, Edward presses on. ‘I have no doubt that you believed you were acting in Ellie’s best interests when you went running off from work – citing personal issues, I might add – to look for her. But you must realise that you can’t go chasing around after every eleven-year-old girl who doesn’t go straight home from school. For a start, if you believed she was in any kind of danger, you should have called the police and stayed well out of it.’
I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water. How do I defend myself against lies? Why is Sarah doing this? She saw the state Ellie was in when I brought her home. Has Florence been to see her? I shake my head. Clearly I underestimated the seemingly mild-mannered headmistress.
‘So, you understand my position?’ Edward asks, his sharpness ebbing away.
‘I understand.’ I pick up my notepad and my half-empty mug of cold tea. ‘I’ll get my things. Thank you for giving me the opportunity—’
Edward frowns. ‘What things?’
I’m momentarily thrown off balance. ‘Well I don’t have much – my coat, my mug, a photo on the pinboard . . .’
‘I . . . I don’t think you understand. I’m not firing you – goodness, I’m not even reprimanding you properly. Please,’ he waves his hand at the desk and I feel relief claw at my chest, ‘sit down.’ He sighs, as if he’s suddenly realised this has all gone wrong. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the impression this was more than just an informal chat. The truth is that what I said before is true: we are lucky to have you. I’m aware that you come from a background of being able to do much more for the people in your care than we have the time or funds to manage here. But the fact is that we are limited in what we can do.
‘And while the concern has been raised – don’t look at me like that; you know I can’t go into details about where it came from – I do feel that you have become too attached to Ellie Atkinson. I’ll put it down to you being new at this, new and keen to help a young girl who has had an extremely bad hand dealt to her in life. That’s admirable, of course, but it can’t continue. This case has got in the way of your other work. I know, for example, that Lucy attended the regional meeting for you yesterday, and that she had to finish a report that you were supposed to be producing for Protection. I need you to refer Ellie on to the appropriate authorities and progress with your other cases. I have no doubt that you will continue to flourish in this department once you get used to the way local government operates, and that we will have no further need for discussions of this nature.’
The last sentence sounds more like a warning than a clarification of my position, but I nod anyway, feeling like I’ve dodged a bullet.
‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.
‘You’re welcome. Now,’ Edward turns to log on to his computer, effectively closing the meeting, ‘I don’t want to keep you from your work any longer, so I shall see you in this week’s planning meeting.’
I stand to leave, but something stops me. I don’t want to push my luck, but . . .
‘Edward?’
He turns to face me again, looking wary. ‘Yes?’
‘I really appreciate you not taking this further, and I understand what you’re saying about Ellie. I will refer her on, just like you’ve said, but do you mind if I have one last meetin
g with her, just to let her know what will be happening? She’s been let down so often that I would like her to understand that I’ve not just abandoned her.’
Edward’s face softens. ‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘I don’t see that being a problem. Just as long as you make it clear that it will be your final meeting. We can’t save everyone single-handedly,’ he says, his words sounding kindly. ‘As much as we may want to. Just remember to submit a full report with your recommendations.’
I nod, and leave the office. I feel as though I’ve just been in a battle, even though I barely spoke a word. I knew the day would come when I had to let Ellie go; the best I can hope for is that the poor girl understands why.
72
Ellie
Ellie doesn’t understand. She thought Imogen was there to help her. Things between them were going so well; Imogen’s the only person apart from Mary who doesn’t believe that she is some kind of monster. She’s seen the way everyone else here looks at her, with a fearful reverence, as though they are afraid that the demon bubbling inside her might burst through her skin any moment. Imogen never looks at her that way. Sure, she feels sorry for her – Ellie can see that mixture of pity and helplessness in the woman’s eyes even now – and yet she doesn’t mind that so much; she feels sorry for herself much of the time, so why shouldn’t at least one of the adults feel the same too? No, pity is much better than fear and distrust. Pity can be used.
Imogen has always acted towards her like the adults in her old life did – as though she is just a child to be looked after, taken care of and protected from bad things. She even speaks to her like an adult sometimes, and spoils her a little bit the way her mum used to. Now she is telling Ellie it all has to be over, just like that. Dumping her like everyone else has.
‘But you promised,’ Ellie says, and she hates the way her voice sounds so whiny and childish. She tries again, tries to inject some anger into her words, to stand up for herself like Mary is always telling her she should. ‘You said you would help me.’
‘And I feel that I have,’ Imogen says, and she puts out a hand to touch Ellie’s arm. Ellie jumps back as though she has been burned, and even at eleven she sees the hurt in Imogen’s face, but she doesn’t care. Why should she care when this woman obviously doesn’t give a single spot of shit about her? ‘Ellie, please.’
‘Ellie, please,’ she mocks in a spiteful voice that doesn’t sound like hers, and she hates it but she can’t stop it, just like she can’t stop the anger flooding through her like someone has left a tap on in her brain, and now it’s filling up and spilling over the sides, spilling hot raw anger into her arms and legs, up into her chest, and like water it is uncontrollable and there is no way to scoop it up and shove it back where it came from. The anger has a life of its own and it is making her whole head throb. There is enough of the old Ellie left in her to feel afraid for what she might say or do with this thick black anger pumping through her, but not enough to stop the words flooding from her lips.
‘You’re just like everyone else!’ she screams, and she can feel her face turning red and ugly, feels the demon that Ms Gilbert told her is inside her rearing up. ‘Except you’re worse than them because you pretended to be different, you pretended to care! They all say that I’m the bad one, that I make those bad things happen, but maybe those things happened to them because they were bad people and perhaps bad things will happen to you and maybe I don’t even care if they do!’
And now the tears are running down her face as if the black water has filled her up so entirely that there is nowhere else for it to go, and even as she wipes them angrily from her face Ellie doesn’t want to look down at her sleeve in case they aren’t the clear tears of a normal girl but the thick, sticky black tears of a monster.
‘Ellie, you don’t mean that.’ Imogen wrings her hands together in anguish or prayer, Ellie can’t tell which. She should pray, she should pray that those things the people of the town whisper when they think Ellie can’t hear them aren’t true. ‘You’re not a bad person, you are a wonderful little girl and I wish to God that we could work together and that I could help you, but I have a job to do and I’ve done as much as that job will let me.’
‘Fuck your job!’ Ellie shouts, and the word doesn’t shock or frighten her. She knows bad things are inside her waiting to come out, and in this moment the anger has taken hold of her so firmly that she doesn’t even care when they do. ‘I trusted you!’
‘And I’m glad you did; I hope you still do. Trust that the people I refer you on to—’
‘That’s all anyone ever does.’ Ellie fights to calm her words but they are still filled with unbridled vitriol. ‘Refer me on, move me around. Too much trouble for you? Too much hard work? That’s fine, ship her on, move her to someone else’s list, make her someone else’s problem. Do you know that I wished you were my mum?’ The sobs threaten to make her words unintelligible. ‘I lay in bed praying to a God I don’t even believe in that you could be my new mum and you could look after me and we’d move away from this horrible town and be happy together.’
Imogen shakes her head in sad desperation. ‘Ellie, that’s my fault. I should never have let you have hopes like that, I should never have—’
‘Don’t ruin it even more!’ Ellie screams. ‘Don’t you tell me it was a mistake! I was happy with you!’ She wants to throw something, to hurt Imogen like she’s hurting now.
‘Well I’m glad you’re not my mum.’ She spits the words like gunfire, each one a direct hit. ‘Because my real mum would never have given up on me like you are. You don’t deserve to be a mother, you don’t deserve that thing that is growing inside you. It would be better off dead.’
And before Imogen can react, Ellie leaps to her feet, runs from the room, and flings her skinny little body into the arms of her waiting foster mother.
Imogen
I stand alone in the office, my hands covering my face and trying not to cry. This has all gone so wrong. I should have known that Ellie would feel this horrific betrayal so keenly. Edward was right, Florence Maxwell was right – this is what happens when you get too close. Just like last time. And look how that ended.
73
Ellie
Mary strokes a hand down Ellie’s long dark hair and cups her chin in her palm, lifting it so that Ellie is looking into her eyes. ‘It’s okay, Ellie. Don’t cry, please. I hate it when you’re sad.’
‘You didn’t see her, Mary.’ Ellie chokes back the sobs; she’ll do anything to please the only person she has left. ‘It was like she didn’t care at all. And the things I said to her were terrible – just the worst things you could say to a person. I feel horrible, all twisted up inside my belly, like everything inside me is tied in a billion knots.’
‘I’m sure she does care, Els.’ Mary lowers her head so that her eyes are level with Ellie’s. ‘It’s just that she’s a grown-up. And you know what grown-ups are like, don’t you? We’ve talked all about this before. They’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel all alone, to feel as though you have no one to rely on in this world. They are so worried about looking after their own jobs and families and lives that they forget what it’s like for the children they’re screwing over.’ She lifts a lock of Ellie’s hair away from her face – it is wet with tears and tries to cling to her cheekbone – then tenderly wipes a thumb under her eye. ‘But I won’t forget.’
‘You won’t leave me, Mary, will you? Even if I get moved to a different family, you’ll still be my friend, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will, silly,’ Mary promises. ‘We’re more than friends, aren’t we? We’re sisters. You can’t take that away, even if you want to. Which I don’t.’ At the look on Ellie’s face, she lifts her little finger. ‘Pinkie promise.’
‘I said she didn’t deserve her baby. I said it would be better off dead.’ Ellie speaks these words in a whimper, certain that Mary will be disgusted. ‘I wish I hadn’t said that.’
Mary shrugs, although Ellie is sure
she sees a little recoil of horror. ‘It doesn’t matter, Ellie. They’re just words. And words can’t hurt someone, can they?’
Ellie feels shrunken and miserable, like the tiny, sad little girl she truly is, and Mary gives her a tight hug. ‘But if you want her to pay for what she’s done to you, for how she has hurt and betrayed you, you know you can do that, don’t you? You know what you can do.’
Ellie’s eyes widen at the look on Mary’s face. So she knows after all. She knows all about the anger, and the dreams, and the demons, and she loves her anyway. And when Mary gives her an encouraging smile, Ellie replies with a tiny nod. Because Ellie doesn’t really want to hurt Imogen Reid. But she doesn’t want to let Mary down either.
74
Imogen
I take early leave from the office that afternoon; to his credit, Edward, who saw my face on my arrival back at the office, was the one to suggest it. ‘You’ve done some extra hours this week,’ he told me, placing a hand gently on my shoulder. ‘And you’ve had some tough decisions to make. Take the afternoon off and come back refreshed tomorrow.’
Tough decisions? I thought with a trace of bitterness. Except it wasn’t my decision to make, was it?
I have barely let myself back into the house and thrown my bag on the floor when Dan appears at the top of the stairs. ‘How did it go?’ he asks, a genuine look of sympathy on his gentle face.
‘It was awful.’ I wander through to the living room, unsure of what to do with myself. I want to call Sarah Jefferson, explain what happened with Ellie, check that she’s okay, but I know I can’t. I have to take a step back now, let the family deal with Ellie’s issues the way I should have done in the first place.
I don’t even notice Dan standing behind me until his hands are on my neck, rubbing my shoulders gently. God, that feels good.
The Foster Child Page 22
