by Jane Bidder
Kayleigh stared as a tall, very black woman with long glossy hair glided towards them. She was just like that supermodel who was always on the telly. Surely it couldn’t be? Then she noticed. Angie had a limp. Just a slight one but it was definitely there. She had a long thin silver scar down her right cheek too. So it wasn’t the supermodel after all.
“Welcome!” Angie said it in such a warm, welcoming way that Kayleigh wondered if this vision had got her muddled up with someone else. “It’s lovely to meet you, isn’t it, Marc?”
She turned to the man next to her. As she took him in, Kayleigh felt a twinge of apprehension, just as she had when Mum had introduced her to Ron. He was very tall and thin too, with a floppy brown hat that went down right over his forehead and almost covered his eyes. His jeans were turned up at the bottom and his open-necked blue checked shirt revealed a hairy chest with a small gold crucifix round his neck. Angie, she suddenly realised, had one too.
“It certainly is,” he replied in answer to his wife’s question. His voice was harder than hers, though, and colder. “However, I have to say to you right from the start, Kayleigh, that we have house rules here which we expect everyone to adhere to.”
There was a short pause. “You do understand, don’t you,” said the social worker nervously, touching her right earring as if to check it was still there. “Adhere means …”
“I know what it means,” said Kayleigh crossly. Did they think she was stupid just because she’d been slammed into Care? “It means ‘stick to’.”
The man looked grudgingly impressed. “Exactly. We expect our own children to obey the rules too.” He waved a hand towards the bungalow. “Come on in. They’re just finishing off their lessons.”
Lessons? Kayleigh’s spirits lifted. “Is there a school here and all?”
Angie’s eyes shone. “We do home schooling here, don’t we, Marc? So we have classes all through the holidays. You’ll be expected to take part too, Kayleigh. But don’t worry. You’ll love it. Won’t she, Marc?”
I see, thought Kayleigh. She’s nervous of him. That’s why she keeps deferring to him. Mum did the same with Ron. Shit. She had a bad feeling about this place. Couldn’t the social worker see there was something weird going on here?
“I’ll be back to see you in a few days, Kayleigh!” chirped the orange earrings. The piggy eyes were bright as though she’d just dropped Kayleigh off at a birthday party; something she knew all about from the Kids Section in the library. “And of course I’ll be taking you to court before long. Meanwhile, put that out of your mind for a bit. Enjoy your stay here. Bye-eee!”
And she was gone, in a flurry of dirt from the track, just about avoiding another suicide-happy duck, waddling straight out in front of the car. Distraught, Kayleigh stared after her. Come back, she wanted to say. Take me home.
Then she remembered. She didn’t have a home any more. Mum and Ron didn’t want her. Marlene wouldn’t let her in because her boyfriend was mad at her for grassing on Frankie. And, as the policeman had said, she couldn’t sleep on the shopping centre steps for ever.
“Everyone finds it a bit strange at first,” said Angie kindly, touching her arm and gently leading her towards the front door with its ‘Welcome’ sign on the side in the shape of a sun and a pair of praying hands. “But you’ll be all right.”
Marc nodded curtly. “Not got any luggage then?”
Kayleigh shrugged. “I didn’t have time to pack.”
She didn’t add that she didn’t have any stuff anyway apart from the hoodie that Callum had given her last year (“ Don’t ask where it came from, sis”). The colour had run in the wash anyway. “Never mind,” said Angie soothingly. “We’ll find you some clean clothes. Won’t we, Marc?”
Thank God, Marlene wasn’t here to see her. Or Frankie. Kayleigh shuddered. They wouldn’t recognise her. Not in this stuff. Fucking hell. She didn’t even recognise herself.
The girl in the mirror was wearing jeans that flared out, instead of being thin at the bottom. The T-shirt was a really boring muddy brown colour with what Angie had called approvingly, a ‘scoop’ neck, instead of a ‘plunge’. Here, Angie had looked disapprovingly at the pink T-shirt that showed off Kayleigh’s bustline, which Marlene had lent her months ago and forgotten to ask for back.
Instead of trainers, she had to wear padded slippers because it was “better for the floor”. But the worst thing of all was that make-up wasn’t allowed. “God wants us to look natural,” Angie had sung brightly.
It was all right for her with those amazingly black long lashes! Kayleigh’s were so fair that, without mascara, they faded into nothing, making her look a bit piggyish.
“That’s my T-shirt you’re wearing,” said the girl on the bunk bed below hers. Kayleigh had been introduced to her earlier. Her name was Hope and she was thirteen. That’s all Kayleigh had managed to get out of her. She was incredibly shy.
“You can have it back, if you want,” said Kayleigh hopefully.
The girl shrugged. She had a sour disappointed face. “It’s OK. I never liked it anyway.”
Kayleigh stared. “Mind if I ask you something? Why aren’t you black like your mother?”
There was another shrug. “’Cos I’m not hers, that’s why. God sent me here.”
What was she talking about?
“That’s what they say, anyway.” There was a scowl. “Truth is I’m adopted. I don’t know who my real mum and dad are. But one day, when I get out of this place, I’m going to find out.”
There was the sound of footsteps outside. The girl put a finger to her lips. She was scared, Kayleigh realised. Just like she’d been scared of Ron.
“Hi there! Everything all right?”
Marc opened the door without so much as a knock. A few minutes earlier and she could have still been changing, thought Kayleigh indignantly.
“Good.” His eyes flickered over her briefly. “That’s much better. By the way, we don’t have locks in our home. Angie and I think they encourage deceit.” Marc smiled tightly at Hope. “A certain person is on kitchen duty tonight if I’m not wrong. Why don’t you show Kayleigh the ropes?”
She’d never seen so many carrots before. Or potatoes. It was like feeding an army. She didn’t even like vegetables anyway. And as for the table, it was so big that it had taken her ages to put out the knives and forks. When she’d lived with Mum and Ron, they’d each got their own stuff – usually from the chippie if Mum gave her some money – and scoffed it in front of the telly.
“Thanks, Kayleigh,” said Angie turning round from the cooker where she was stirring a huge bowl of mince. “Mind putting the forks on the left side instead of putting them next to the knives on the right?”
Who was coming to dinner? The Queen? Bloody hell. What was that? Kayleigh jumped as a deep hollow sound rang round her ears. “That’s the gong,” said Hope sullenly. “Marc always strikes it when it’s meal time or lessons are starting.”
“Do you call him Marc because he isn’t your real dad?” whispered Kayleigh.
But Angie heard. “Hope has probably told you she’s adopted which means that, in law, Marc is her real father.” She smiled brightly. “But we encourage our children to call us by our first names. Marc thinks it’s healthier. Right, both of you. Ready?”
Kayleigh hadn’t seen the other kids earlier as they were all busy “doing their jobs or homework”. But now they were trooping in. Two were very black like Angie and the other two had ginger hair like her. Were they adopted too? There was no knowing what colour hair Marc had because he showed no sign of taking off that hat, even in the house.
Meanwhile, he was sitting at the top of the table, waiting expectantly for them to all sit down. For five kids, they were very quiet. “Silence please for grace.”
Grace? There had been a girl at school called Grace who had left after one of the others had stabbed her with a penknife. Kayleigh looked at the door, expecting another child to come in.
But then she notice
d that everyone round the table had their eyes shut, apart from Hope who was shooting her daggers. What had she done now?
“Dear God,” Marc was saying. “May we appreciate every mouthful of this feast which you have prepared for us. And let us not forget those who have nothing.”
Kayleigh almost laughed out loud. God hadn’t prepared that pile of potatoes and carrots on the table. She and Hope had. But instinct told her that it might not be a good idea to say so. ’Sides, she was starving. And even though she would kill right now for a burger and chips, she gingerly took a bite of the carrot.
“Good, isn’t it?” beamed Angie.
She was nice, Kayleigh decided. But the husband was weird.
“After dinner,” announced Marc, “it’s games night.”
One of the younger kids, a sweet little girl with tight black curls, clapped her hands together. “I love games nights! Can I go first?”
Angie leaned across and touched Kayleigh’s hand lightly. “Do you like Ludo?”
What was that when it was at home?
“It’s a board game,” muttered Hope. “Really boring.”
Marc’s face darkened. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,’ mumbled Hope.
The table fell silent. Angie began twisting a long strand of her hair as if nervous. They were all scared of him, Kayleigh realised. She didn’t like this. Didn’t like it at all.
How was it possible that she had only been here for a week? It felt like a month at least. Marlene would die if she was stuck in this place.
Every day, in Angie and Marc’s house, Kayleigh was meant to check the rota that was pinned up on the kitchen cupboard. It told her what jobs she had to do. So far, she’d had to scrub the kitchen floor, wash all the windows, and clean the toilets (that was her least favourite task).
There were lessons too, though she liked those. Marc might be a bit of a weirdo but he had loads of books on every wall. For English, she was allowed to read as much as she wanted and then write a short summary. Cool. Maths wasn’t too bad either. Angie was in charge of that. She didn’t get all narked like her teacher at school when Kayleigh couldn’t understand something. She explained it really patiently.
They had their lessons at the big kitchen table. All the kids did different things but it wasn’t noisy. They all just got on with what they were doing and if they didn’t understand something, they’d put up their hands and Marc or Angie would come round and explain something. No one ignored them or passed notes or made crude jokes.
They were encouraged to read the daily newspaper too although sections of it were cut out “because they’re not suitable.” One day, she stopped short. There was a picture of a woman who looked just like the one who had seen her in the park. Below it was a line that said: BRITISH PARENTS CLAIM SON WAS INNOCENT IN SOUTH AMERICAN DRUGS SCANDAL
Was it Alice Honeybun, like it had said on the card that had been stolen with the money? Kayleigh couldn’t be certain. Maybe it was her imagination again.
One morning, just after a maths lesson, when Kayleigh had been there for nine days, Angie touched her arm. She was often doing that, she’d noticed. “Can you stay behind a bit?”
She waited while the other kids filed out. There was a brief rest period now, according to the timetable on the cupboard. Then lunch. And then jobs.
“How are you settling in?”
Kayleigh hadn’t expected that. Instead she’d been waiting for a “Please straighten your duvet cover properly?” or “Can you remember to put out napkins for lunch today please?”
“OK,” she shrugged.
Angie glanced at the door. She’s worried Marc is going to come in, Kayleigh realised. “I just wanted to say that my husband might seem a bit strict at times but he means well. Very well, in fact. He rescued me, you know.”
Kayleigh stared at her. “From a fire?”
One of their neighbour’s flats had burned down last year. Arson, the police had said, though they couldn’t prove anything.
Angie smiled. “No. From the streets.”
Had she heard her right? Had this woman who was so picky about putting forks on the left-hand side of a proper table mat, really been on the game? You couldn’t grow up on an estate like hers without knowing about that.
“That’s right.” There was another smile. “I was a prostitute. In Bristol.” She touched the long thin silver scar on her cheek. Was that how you got it? Kayleigh wanted to ask. But Angie had continued talking.
“One night, Marc turned up. I thought he was another client but he didn’t want to do anything. He started telling me about Jesus and how he wanted to save me.”
Angie was grasping Kayleigh’s hand firmly. She wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or not. “At first, I thought he was a bit of a nut. But he kept coming back. He paid to see me but he didn’t want to do anything. Just talk.”
The grasp grew tighter. “I was mad for him, Kayleigh. I wanted him. He wanted me too. I could tell. But I was also beginning to realise there were more important things, like helping people. So we got married and began fostering. Marc used to be a social worker, you see. He knew how important it was to help people like you.”
Was she a bit touched? There was definitely a strange glint in her eyes that reminded her of a horror DVD she and Marlene had once nicked from her nan.
“He saved me.” Angie was clutching both her hands now. Her nails were digging into Kayleigh’s flesh. “Just as he can save you.”
Kayleigh pulled away. “I’m not on the game. I loved Frankie. And he loves me. I know it.”
Angie smiled sadly. “I used to think that way about men who hurt me. It’s all to do with self-esteem, you see.”
“But you’re scared of Marc,” burst out Kayleigh. “I can see it.”
Angie’s face stiffened. “Shhh,” she put a finger to her lips. “You must never say that, Kayleigh. You understand? Never.”
She leaped to her feet. “Please go to your room now. It’s rest period.”
For two pins, she’d leg it now. But the front door was locked which was weird, given what Marc had said earlier about doors always being open. Confused, Kayleigh went back to ‘her’ room. That was odd. She’d made her bed that morning – not very well, it had to be said – but now it was a real mess with muddy footprints on it.
Hope was sitting on the top bunk, glaring down at her.
“Did you do that?” asked Kayleigh.
Hope shrugged. “Might have. Might not have. You’d better clean it up before Marc sees it.”
“Why?” Kayleigh felt ridiculously hurt. “Why did you do it?”
Hope sniffed. “’Cos I don’t like sharing my room with strangers, that’s why. I always do it. Nothing personal, like.”
Fair enough.
That night, after playing Ludo (which was quite good fun, actually), Kayleigh lay awake. “Not long,” she told herself. “Not long until I’m sixteen. I can do what I like then.”
The thought reassured her enough to eventually fall asleep. The following morning, there was a knock on the door. Had she missed roll call? That’s what Marc called it when he rang a bell before breakfast and they all had to line up and check their jobs for the day.
“Kayleigh? Are you awake?”
It was Angie. Her face was apprehensive. There were red marks on her wrists. Fucking hell. Marc must have hurt her.
“It’s your mum.”
For a second, her heart leaped. Mum had finally come to get her. She loved her after all. She’d got rid of Ron and …
“She’s on the phone,” whispered Angie again. “It’s urgent.”
Cursing the fact they’d taken her mobile away when she’d arrived (“another rule, Kayleigh”), she picked up the receiver. It wasn’t even a cordless so she had to stand there, in the kitchen, with Angie pretending not to listen.
“Kayleigh? Are you there?”
Mum’s voice was scared. Not scared as in ‘Don’t, Ron’ through the wall, scared. Or scared lik
e the day the police had broken down the door to get Callum who’d been hiding under his bed. But scared in a way she’d never heard before.
“Listen. Did they make you record your statement so it could be played in court instead of you actually going there?”
“No.”
“Thank Christ for that.”
“The police said I could give evidence on an interview screen – I think that’s what they called it – but I said I’d rather go to court myself. Then I could look the jury in the eye and tell them that Frankie didn’t mean any harm.”
“You daft bitch.”
That wasn’t very nice. Kayleigh was glad Angie couldn’t hear.
“They put a note through the door in the night,” continued Mum breathlessly.
“Who did?”
“Your friend Frankie and his mates. They say that if you give evidence in court against them, they’ll do something to me.”
No. That couldn’t be right. “My Frankie wouldn’t do that.”
“He’s not your Frankie, you silly cow. When will you realise that? He’s some bloke that got your knickers off in a public place and more fool you for letting him. He doesn’t love you, Kayleigh. Not like I do. Please, love. If you care for your mum, don’t go to court to be a witness. Don’t cough. Promise?”
Chapter Seventeen
There was a parking fine in the post. And a legal letter because someone had seen her bump into that red car in town the other day – with everything going on, she’d forgotten to report it. And now this. Her appearance in court. All because she’d been in the park at the wrong time.
Someone could go with her, apparently. There was a charity that liaised with the police to support witnesses. A volunteer could show her the way round the massive court building. Go over the protocol. Sit with her before she gave evidence.
But Alice didn’t want that. The very thought made her feel like a child. Vulnerable. Exposed. Just like she’d been before.
Besides, all she had to do was tell the jury what she’d seen. When Paul Black put it that way, it didn’t sound so difficult. But then she thought of the faces in the public gallery and the local reporter – there was bound to be one – and all the publicity that was bound to come out.
