by Rosie Lewis
‘What’s wrong, Arch,’ I said gently. ‘Has something upset you?’
He turned his eyes on me, his lips twisted in disgust. ‘You slag,’ he said slowly. His words were cool and measured but his cheeks were crimson. ‘You horrible, dirty slag.’ Taken aback, all I could do was stare at him. Wisely, Des stayed where he was, his face angled away.
‘Archie,’ I said, at a loss as to where all this had sprung from. I glanced at Des. He raised one eyebrow and then looked away again. ‘What’s this about, honey?’
Archie’s chest began to heave. Without warning he kicked out at Mungo, catching his soft underbelly. Mungo yelped in pain and hid behind my leg. ‘Archie!’ I shouted, crouching down and wrapping my arms around the trembling pup. Archie glared at me then turned on his heel and disappeared.
‘You sure you donnae want me to stay?’ Des said quietly in the hall a minute or so later. ‘Just as back-up if you need it.’
‘I’ll be fine, really,’ I whispered. ‘Outbursts are my bread and butter. It’s the phoniness I find hard to cope with.’
‘If you’re sure.’ He touched the pad of his thumb to my cheek. ‘Text me if you need a wee hand and I’ll come straight back.’
I rested my forehead against his, patted his hand. ‘Thanks, Des.’
When he left I leaned back against the front door and glanced up at the banisters, my legs trembling. There was no sound coming from upstairs but, despite the confidence I had expressed to Des, for a second I regretted asking him to leave. I took a breath, trying to compose myself. I knew that any sign of stress on my part would only escalate Archie’s own.
Sometimes being a foster carer is a bit like being a detective. Archie was suffering, but the reasons for his distress were, for now, closed off from me. I had sensed that something was wrong when I first met him, and now it was becoming clearer that Archie’s inner world was broken. I pushed myself away from the door and rolled my shoulders back. No matter how distressing a place it might be, I had a feeling that if I wanted to understand him, I was going to have to join him there.
Chapter Twelve
I found him sitting on his pillow, his legs dangling over the ladder of his bunk. After a soft tap on the open door, I walked into the room and stood a few feet from his bunk. ‘Archie?’ I ventured carefully, turning his name into a question.
Archie kept his head hung low, though he kicked out with his bare foot, warning me to stay away. ‘Do you want to talk about what’s upsetting you, Archie?’ I said, working hard against my racing pulse to keep my voice low.
‘No!’ he snarled. ‘Leave me alone!’
I waited, listening to the even tone of Bobbi’s breathing. It seemed strange that she was able to sleep through such loud disturbances when she woke so often through the night. I wondered whether selective deafness was another protective mechanism at work, one that had allowed her to sleep through some of the chaos of home. ‘I can hear how upset you are. I want to help you if I can.’
He leapt from the bunk and landed a foot from me. I stood my ground, returning his furious glare with a neutral one. ‘You’re nothing but a dirty slag,’ he breathed, a nasty twisting sneer on his face. ‘I don’t even want to look at you.’
I gave him a long, steady look. His words were not those of a nine-year-old from a loving or even barely functional home. ‘I’m guessing that you’ve heard and seen some difficult things in the past, Archie, but those sort of names don’t belong here, in this house.’
He leaned forward until his face was only a few inches from mine. ‘I could cut you up in your sleep, you know,’ he blasted, louder now. ‘I could take a knife and slit your throat.’
My chest fluttered. It was so hard to reconcile the furious boy in front of me with the one who had chatted so easily in the kitchen as he’d helped me wash the dishes just a couple of hours ago. I was so knocked off balance that I just stood there, staring at him in disbelief. Over his shoulder I could see that Bobbi was beginning to stir. From the bathroom came the tell-tale groan in the pipes as the water was turned off. I felt my pulse racing again. Jamie would be out of the shower soon. I didn’t want him to get involved.
‘We’ll talk in the morning,’ I said calmly, though my heart was beating fast. I turned and walked across the room.
‘You ugly, stinking slag!’ Archie shouted. I could sense him following, his shadow looming up behind me. ‘I don’t want to stay with you. Tell Danny I wanna go somewhere else. You make me sick.’
‘What’s going on?’ came Jamie’s voice from the hall.
My chest tightened. ‘Nothing, Jamie, everything’s okay.’ I swivelled around to face Archie again, ushering him back with my hand. ‘Go to bed now, Archie. I’ll talk to you in the morning when you’ve calmed down.’
‘Doesn’t sound like nothing,’ Jamie persisted, his voice closer now. I turned and saw him standing in the doorway, his hair dripping wet, dark patches appearing on his T-shirt where he hadn’t dried himself properly. He dragged the towel he was holding over his forehead, draped it round his neck and glared at Archie.
Archie’s cheeks flushed a deep red. ‘Tell him to get out!’ he screamed. ‘Get out of my room!’
‘Take it easy, you loon,’ Jamie said disgustedly.
I turned to Jamie, taking pains to look unshaken. ‘Go downstairs, Jamie, will you?’
‘Yeah, and you get out too, bitch!’ Archie bellowed. Jamie’s eyes widened. He started forward, the tendons in his neck straining with fury.
I held my hand out, pressing it against his damp chest. ‘Jamie, please. I’m fine. Go downstairs. I’ll join you in a minute or two.’ It was a struggle to keep my expression unruffled.
Jamie gave a sigh of exasperation and made a move to leave, his gaze lingering for just a second on the furious boy behind him. ‘What a fruit loop,’ I heard him mutter as he went downstairs. I felt a prick of guilt, knowing how hard it must have been for him to hear someone shouting abuse at me like that. The fact that aggression was something Archie had perhaps had to witness himself many times in the past wasn’t lost on me.
I closed the door and took a few steps back into the room. I stopped about two feet away from Archie and looked at him. He met my gaze. ‘Archie, we don’t know each other very well yet,’ I said, ‘but hopefully you’ll come to trust me and realise that I’m here to help you.’ He lowered his eyes and stared at the floor. ‘I understand that you’re feeling very angry about lots of things, and I want to help you figure it all out, but for that to happen you need to understand that my house is a place of safety, for you and for Bobbi, but for all of us as well, and that includes Mungo. That means there are rules that must never be broken. Calling me names like the ones you just used is not allowed, ever. And what happened downstairs with Mungo must never happen again either.’
He flushed still deeper and looked quickly away. ‘That’s all I want to say for tonight. We’re all tired. I think we should try and get some sleep.’ I reached out and gave him what I hoped to be a reassuring pat on the arm.
His eyes darkened, turning from deep hazel to brown. ‘You smell,’ he said in a contemptuous tone. ‘You smell just like her.’
I pulled my hand away slowly. ‘Like who?’ I asked, aware of my pulse beginning to race again. ‘Who do you mean, Archie?’
I hadn’t realised quite how much of a toll Archie’s outburst had taken until I got ready for bed that night. Entirely sapped, I abandoned an attempt at reading the paperback on my bedside table and dropped off to sleep almost as soon as I switched off the lamp. I woke in the small hours though, Archie’s words foremost in my mind. When he’d said that I smelled just like ‘her’, he had sounded so venomous and hateful, using a level of spite unusual in someone so young.
Refusing to engage any further, he had pivoted on his heel and lunged at the ladder of his bunk, throwing himself up onto his mattress and pulling the duvet over his head. I presumed that the smell he had found so repellent was alcohol. But what had he seen when he l
ooked at me, I wondered. Had it been his mother, or was it possible that the ‘her’ he referred to related to someone else?
My heart lurched when I thought about how confused his feelings for his mother seemed to be. It put me in mind of something I’d read by the American writer Judith Viorst about a small boy who had been doused in alcohol and set on fire. Frightened and in pain, the boy cried for his mother from his hospital bed, even though it had been her who had set him alight. What stuck in my mind at the time of reading was that the boy wholeheartedly wanted his mother regardless of anything she had done and of the danger she represented. Or as Viorst put it, ‘Whether she hurts or hugs’.
By morning Archie’s mask was firmly back in place, so much so that it might have been easy to convince myself that last night’s fall-out was a figment of my imagination. ‘Good, thank you,’ he’d said, when I asked him how his night had been. Having washed and dressed without prompting, he sat at the breakfast table and lavished fuss on Mungo, who had taken a fair bit of coaxing out of his basket earlier that morning. Archie tensed when Jamie walked past him to the kitchen though, his eyes lowering sheepishly to the table.
‘See you,’ Jamie said a moment later, emerging from the kitchen with a banana in his hand. He was going into school early to practise for an inter-county football match that was taking place later that afternoon.
‘Bye, love, good luck,’ I said when he patted my shoulder.
‘Bye, Jamie,’ Archie said quietly. He brushed a few invisible crumbs from the table and straightened the placemats, keeping his eyes lowered.
‘Laters,’ Jamie said casually, with only the slightest hesitation. Archie looked up then, seemingly surprised at being forgiven so easily.
Bobbi came down a few minutes later, bleary-eyed but belting out a monstrous tune at the top of her voice. Still in her pyjamas, she threw her arms around me then leapt onto the chair next to Archie. ‘Rosie, can me and Meggie do some painting after school today? Can we, Rosie, can we?’
With a sudden jolt I realised that, for the first time since she’d arrived almost two weeks earlier, she hadn’t demanded food the moment she set eyes on me. It was an encouraging sign; she was beginning to trust that I would take care of her needs without reminders. ‘That sounds like a plan,’ I said, kissing the top of her head and straightening her glasses on my way to the kitchen.
She cheered and started singing again. I watched her as I poured milk into a large jug and carried bowls and spoons to the table, marvelling at Archie’s ability to switch off from her antics. Studiously examining the back of a cereal box, he barely glanced her way, even when she bumped into him and screamed in his ear.
‘In fine fettle again this morning, Bobbi?’ Emily said with a grin as she and Megan came in.
‘Isn’t she just?’ I said, giving Emily’s shoulder a squeeze as she took a seat at the table. ‘And you, madam,’ I said, squatting down in front of Megan and giving her tummy a tickle. ‘I thought I asked you to get your uniform on?’ Sporting a purple leotard and pink tutu, she grinned and performed a wobbly pirouette. ‘I suppose we can get ready after breakfast. In fact, girls, as you’re both full of beans, maybe you could help me serve the cereal this morning.’
‘Huh?’ Bobbi said, her eyes popping open in surprise.
‘It’s so good when we make it to school on time. I think if you help me we might be able to get there on time again today. What do you think?’
Bobbi frowned, her mouth falling open.
‘Oooh, I will, Mummy!’ Megan said, her hand up in the air as if in the classroom. ‘I’ll help!’
‘Great! Perhaps you could give everyone a bowl and spoon then, Meggie, and Bobbi, you can pour the milk.’
‘Huh?’ Bobbi said again, but she had already climbed off the chair and was looking at me expectantly. When everyone had chosen their cereal she moved between us, holding the jug of milk in a stately manner, her head tilted at a regal angle.
‘Thank you very much, girls,’ I said, adopting a tone of serious gratitude as they returned to their seats. They gave each other a comradely grin and tucked into the breakfast, oblivious to the look of amusement passing between Emily and me.
Miracle upon miracles, we made it to Millfield Primary with five minutes to spare before the bell, Bobbi and Archie both correctly attired, teeth brushed, hair in place. ‘Have a lovely day, Archie,’ I called out as he picked a path through the small groups of children standing between him and the school building. Despite the frozen air, Bobbi shrugged her coat off and swung it over her head, spinning around like a drowsy insect on a hot summer’s day.
As on other days, there was no interaction between Archie and the children he passed. He stole a surreptitious glance around the playground as he neared the entrance to his Year Five classroom, perhaps to see if there was anyone he might engage with. After a moment he dropped his rucksack on the ground, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
My heart lurched as Bobbi pressed her head against my stomach in one of her semi-aggressive hugs. I leaned over and patted her back absentmindedly, my eyes still settled on her brother. I made a mental note to speak to his teacher to see if she could suggest a likely pairing with someone else in his class, someone kind-hearted who might be willing to take him under their wing. I thought back to some of the kindnesses he had shown Megan since he’d arrived – he was a thoughtful soul and would make a nice friend for someone, I was sure of it. All he needed was a helpful nudge in the right direction.
I was so absorbed in my plans that I started when one of the mums, a woman with shiny black hair and a long face, tapped me lightly on the arm. We both laughed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I’ve been meaning to come and say hello. I’m Lisa, Rory’s mum.’
‘Oh, hi, Lisa.’ I realised that I sounded slightly vague, but neither of the children had mentioned Rory, or any other classmates for that matter. ‘Is Rory in Archie’s class?’ I began to wonder whether I might be able to make use of this mum’s friendliness to get some sort of playdate arranged.
‘Oh no, Rory’s in the year above. No, it’s just that I’ve spoken to his mum, Tanya, a few times and –’ she stopped, eyeing me speculatively. At the sound of her mother’s name, Bobbi stilled and looked at us over the top of her glasses. Her eyes narrowed. I looked at Lisa and waited, beginning to suspect that she was on a mission to unearth some gossip. It often happened when children came into care and remained at the same school. Most people respected the birth family’s right to privacy, but some simply couldn’t resist the urge to uncover the juicy details. A few more seconds passed and Lisa’s gaze began to waver. She glanced down at Bobbi and opened her mouth to speak, but then the bell rang.
Lisa raised her hand. A young boy, presumably Rory, gave her a quick wave in reply and headed off towards the opposite end of the building. I turned back to Lisa. ‘It’s just that we were wondering –’ she said in response to my raised eyebrows. She hesitated, her eyes flicking across the emptying playground to where a handful of mothers were standing by the main gate, watching us. She licked her lips and leaned in conspiratorially, her voice lowered to a loud whisper. ‘We were wondering whether everything was alright?’
I gave her a bright smile and looked down at Bobbi to remind her that a pair of little ears were flapping. ‘Yes, fine, thank you.’
She frowned. ‘But Rory says he’s heard that you’re a foster carer?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ I shoved my hands in the pockets of my coat and turned slowly towards the Early Years gate. Lisa fell into step next to me.
‘So you’re looking after the kids full-time then?’
Aware of the sharpening gazes from the mothers at the gate, I quickened my step and herded Bobbi towards her classroom. ‘Yes, the children are staying with me for now,’ I said in a friendly tone, but one that I hoped invited no further enquiry. I gave her a quick smile and then leaned over to talk to Bobbi. ‘Right, sweetie, almost time to go in.’ Bobbi found it so stre
ssful to leave me in the mornings that I still spent the first ten minutes or so in class with her in the mornings. It was a gentler start to her day and one the teachers didn’t object to. In point of fact, Miss Granville usually shot me a panicked look when I made a move to leave. I straightened. ‘It was nice to meet you, Lisa. Enjoy your day.’
‘Yeah, you too. Do you mind me asking why they’ve been taken off their mum though?’ she persisted. I noticed the other mums still watching me with interest.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket. ‘I’m afraid I’m not allowed to go into the ins and outs of it all,’ I said, beginning to feel irritated with her thoughtlessness. The removal of children from their parents was a shocking act, one that was bound to spark interest. It was natural for people to wonder what had happened, but unfair to think it was a subject that should be publicly debated, and especially in front of a child.
‘But she must have done something to them,’ Lisa whispered close as we joined the back of the line waiting for the Early Years gate to open. ‘The social don’t take kids off you for nothing, do they?’
‘I can’t discuss it,’ I said bluntly before leaning down to make a fuss of Bobbi. Lisa gave me a slightly resentful look and then walked away to join her friends.
Chapter Thirteen
The next two weeks passed relatively peacefully, if you glossed over Bobbi’s meltdowns and overlooked her unpredictable assaults. There were no further confrontations with Archie and, though he seemed even quieter than usual, he was mostly back to his polite, contained self.
The suspicion of the children’s former foster carer Joan that Bobbi might be an ADHD sufferer gained some ground when I took the children for their LAC medical – the statutory check-up with a paediatrician that all looked-after children are obliged to have when they come into care. Having spoken to Bobbi’s teacher over the telephone, the paediatrician was of the opinion that traits of hyperactive disorder were present, although he told me that a diagnosis was rarely confirmed before the age of seven.
