The Forgotten Sister

by Caroline Bond

  Chapter 32

  GRACE HAD fabricated a reason to work from home: a presentation that needed her full attention, but the fact that she’d been sitting pointlessly in front of the same half-finished chart for the past ten minutes was testament to the truth that there was no peace to be found at home, either.

  Cassie had thrown up on the way home from the party, all over the back seat of the car and all over Erin. They’d pulled over and tried their best to clean the girls up, but Grace’s handy pack of tissues had been wholly inadequate for the job. Erin kept saying, ‘It’s fine. It’ll wash out. It doesn’t matter’ as she flicked lumps of half-digested food off her jeans. Cassie had vomited again, into the gutter, retching noisily once, twice, three times. It was Erin who had comforted her, patting her back and moving strands of sticky hair away from her face, indifferent to the mess and any embarrassment. Getting back into the car had been an ordeal, the smell nauseating, even with the windows wound down. It had felt like a very long drive home.

  Back at the house, Grace had forced Cassie to drink two glasses of water before supervising the collection of the soiled clothes, while Tom was left to tackle the carnage in the back of the car. Erin absented herself as soon as they stepped through the door.

  An hour later, with the car scrubbed and airing, the washing machine swishing away and everyone showered, Grace was nominated to go up and speak to Cassie. Tom was still too angry. Cassie was sitting on her bed, swathed in her dressing gown, doing nothing when Grace went into her room – having knocked first.

  ‘Are you all right to talk now?’ Grace she asked. Cassie nodded. She still looked ill. Grace sat on the bed. ‘What’s going on, Cassie? What on earth was that all about?’ Cassie sniffed and looked down. Grace steeled herself. ‘Cass! Come on.’

  She finally looked up. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Grace held firm. ‘As you should be. You need to apologise to Dad, and to Erin.’ At the mention of Erin, Cassie blinked. ‘And tomorrow I want you to ring Ray and Flo and apologise to both of them for your behaviour.’ Cassie nodded. ‘Flo has just rung to check that you’re okay. She was worried about you.’ No response.

  They sat in silence, Cassie staring at her duvet, Grace staring at her daughter. Grace’s dominant emotion was sadness, but there was anger and impotence mixed in with it as well. It was a queasy, uncomfortable combination. Cassie did not behave like this. She had been brought up to know better. It was inexcusable. Grace tried one last time to crack her daughter’s silence. ‘Please, Cassie. This isn’t you. Talk to me.’

  Slowly, but very definitely, Cassie shook her head.

  They were failing as parents. Everything about Cassie’s behaviour was screaming ‘Help me’ and yet they weren’t; they were standing back and watching her drown. Grace couldn’t bear it. Work would have to wait. She shut down the presentation and instead looked up the contact number for Gail. When she finally got through, Gail wasn’t available. Grace insisted on speaking to her as soon as possible. When the voice on the other end of the line enquired if it was an emergency, Grace said ‘Yes’.

  She still had to wait a couple of hours before her phone rang. Gail apologised. ‘Sorry. We’re under the cosh a bit this month – we’ve a number of colleagues off sick. What’s happened?’ Grace related the changes in Cassie’s personality and described, briefly but honestly, the debacle at the party. She lost confidence and momentum as she spoke. Cassie’s behaviour was hardly intolerable, and Gail was presumably used to much worse. But to Grace’s surprise, her response was sympathetic. ‘I can see why you’re worrying. Look, I’ve had a little more information come back about Cassie’s birth family, but I’m afraid I’ve another meeting I need to go into now.’ Grace heard the rustling of papers and the clunk of something connecting with the receiver. ‘I’ve an hour tomorrow morning. How about we meet up? If you could come here, that would be a great help. I’m in court at ten a.m., but I’m free before that.’

  Grace agreed immediately.

  They arrived at 8 a.m. They were buzzed straight through to the office. Gail wasn’t the only one at her desk; at least half of the poky workstations were already occupied. The phones rang intermittently, persistently, as if whoever was on the end of the line was used to having to wait to have their needs met.

  Gail waved at them, a cheap notepad clutched in her hand. She showed them into one of the conference rooms. They shook hands across the table. Gail Mason was a small woman of indeterminate age, brisk, friendly. ‘Thank you for coming in to see me. I would’ve liked to come to see you at home, but I’m afraid – with workloads as they are – home visits are a luxury we have to reserve for our more challenging families.’ As an ice-breaker, it wasn’t wholly appropriate, but Grace smiled, indicating their gratitude that Gail had managed to fit them in at all at such short notice.

  They took a seat. Gail put her notepad on the table. On the wall facing them was a pinboard. Neatly displayed on the board were a number of posters promoting adoption and fostering. The sunlit, happy children looked exactly the same as the ones in the leaflets they’d been given all those years ago – the same images of promise and perfection. Not the truth, but a well-intentioned deceit.

  Gail smiled at them kindly. ‘I gather, from talking to Grace, that Cassie is still quite unsettled at present. That she’s frustrated by the lack of progress regarding her birth family.’ They nodded. ‘Well, I’ll start with what we haven’t had any success with – her biological mother. We’ve searched as thoroughly as we’ve been able to, but I’m afraid we’ve drawn a blank. She certainly isn’t in our system in any way that I can determine. That could mean any number of things: that she’s moved out of the area, though I did try a national search and still got nothing; or that she hasn’t had any further recourse to our services. Once an adoption is complete, as you know, that can be the end of it. So I’m afraid it’s a dead-end. That isn’t to say that other voluntary or private agencies might not be able to help you – and Cassie – but I’m afraid I’ve exhausted our resources.’

  ‘Might she be dead?’

  The brutality of Tom’s question didn’t seem to bother Gail in the slightest. ‘She might be. I couldn’t say. You’d have to pursue that information yourselves.’ She glanced down at the notebook on the table, but didn’t open it. ‘In terms of her sibling, however, there have been some developments. Adult services have been very helpful actually. She obviously left the care system at eighteen, but a colleague followed up her Letterbox details and found a contact number and an address for her on file.’ Grace felt Tom stiffen in his seat. ‘We got in touch—’

  Tom blurted out, ‘What!’

  Gail paused. ‘You did ask us to pursue Cassie’s remaining connections. The only way to do that is to seek their permission. Without it, any release of information or any contact is a non-starter.’ Grace forced out another smile. Gail continued. ‘My colleague called her. In this day and age, and with that age group, letters and emails tend to fall on deaf ears, the direct approach often works better. After a number of attempts he managed to have a conversation with her.’

  ‘And?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I’m afraid she was uncooperative. In fact, I gather she was quite hostile.’ Tom breathed out. ‘My colleague explained the situation, with regard to there being an expression of interest from her birth sibling. We of course didn’t tell her anything specific about yourselves, or Cassie’s situation, location, et cetera…but she was very clear that she was unwilling to have any contact, of any kind.’

  ‘So that’s it,’ Tom said with studied neutrality.

  ‘For now, I’m afraid so,’ Gail said.

  ‘Did she say anything about the letters? Had she received them? Read them?’ Grace ignored Tom’s sharp glance.

  ‘I’m not sure they were even discussed. I gather she was very unwilling to engage in any meaningful conversation.’ Gail looked sympathetic. Tom’s hand on hers told Grace to ‘leave it!’ Gail continued, ‘People do sometimes change their mi
nds, of course, but it didn’t sound as if that was likely with Cassie’s sister. And there’s nothing we can do to compel contact. That wouldn’t work anyway. It has to be mutual, for anything good to come out of it.’

  ‘So what do we say to Cassie?’ Grace asked.

  Gail reflected, but only for a second or two. ‘I suggest you’re honest with her. It’s normally the best policy. Tell her the truth.’ Tom and Grace didn’t look at each other and Gail misinterpreted their hesitation. ‘We do have specialist counselling services. I’d be happy to refer Cassie to one of our schemes, if you’d like me to, but there’s a waiting list and,’ she fiddled with the spirals on the pad, ‘my personal advice is to try to work through it as a family. In my experience, some of our sessions – they’re group sessions, with peers, young people in the same situation – well…’ she hesitated, ‘what I’m trying to say is that as good as they are – and they are good – there is a tendency for the group dynamic to encourage rather than dampen their fascination with their pasts. We can control the meetings themselves to an extent, but with social media,’ she shrugged, ‘it can all take on a life of its own. Given how close you obviously are as a family, I’d stick to what you seem to be doing: loving her and letting Cassie know that you love her. I’m sure it will calm down with time.’ Gail stood up and shook their hands. ‘Ring me, any time, if you feel that I can be of any further assistance.’ And she guided them out of the room and out of the office.

  Tom and Grace walked out onto the street and stopped. Their cars were parked in different car parks and they needed to go their separate ways, but they both paused, unwilling to pick up their normal, everyday responsibilities. A coffee shop across the road resolved the problem. It wasn’t busy at this early hour, but they still instinctively chose a table at the back, away from the counter and the slow footfall of customers.

  ‘I assumed that she’d been found a family,’ Grace said.

  Tom took a second to catch up. ‘Leah?’

  ‘Of course Leah! Did you hear Gail let slip that she was in care all her life, until she was eighteen?’ Grace felt an awkward, sharp pain at the thought of Cassie’s sister, in the system, on her own. She recognised that pain as guilt.

  ‘Yes. I heard her.’ Tom had put a lid on any reaction to the news of Leah’s fate. It was, if he was honest, what he’d expected. ‘At least we know for certain that Leah has no interest in Cassie. “Hostile”, that was the description Gail used, that she was “hostile to contact”.’

  ‘I can imagine that she was.’ Grace shifted in her seat, but the pain tucked in between her ribs wouldn’t shift.

  ‘So what do we tell Cassie?’ Tom asked.

  ‘As Gail said: the truth.’ Grace knew the answer wasn’t as simple as that.

  ‘Meaning?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Grace admitted. She felt suffocated.

  Tom slid his drink aside and took hold of her hands. ‘How about this? We tell her that they tried – they searched their databases – but they couldn’t find any information relating to her mum. And, as hard as that is, she’s going to have to accept the fact that it’s a non-starter. We need to get her to see that she may never be able to find out what happened to her biological mother. I think we have to be very clear about that. Otherwise, this could hang over us for years. It’s already screwing things up. We need to put an end to it.’ Seeing Grace recoil slightly from such certainty, Tom softened his tone. ‘We’ll help her, make her see that it doesn’t matter. We just have to get past this, and what Gail has said today has got to help.’

  ‘But is that enough? What about Leah?’

  ‘Grace, it is enough. It’s more than enough for her to have to cope with. Imagine us breaking the news that her birth mother is, in all likelihood, never going to be found, then hitting her with an elder sister she never knew about – who exists, but who won’t have anything to do with her.’

  They both sat in silence for a moment, contemplating how such a revelation might go down, and the damage it would do to their relationship with their daughter. It made them both feel ill.

  Tom went on. ‘If – and it’s a big “if” – she decides to pursue it any further when she’s older, maybe then we’ll have to handle it, but not now. I think if we tell her now, it will totally mess with her head. Besides, Gail said nothing to suggest that Leah’s behavioural problems have gone away. If anything, they’re probably worse now, after all those years in care. We don’t want to let anything like that near Cassie.’

  Tom’s arguments carried weight, but Grace still felt trapped by their wilful denial of Leah, Cassie’s only known flesh-and-blood relative. But it wasn’t only their deceit that was bothering Grace; it was the thought of all the years Leah had spent in care. She had written the updates to Leah, imagining, if not an idyllic life, then at least a decent foster family. It was awful to think that as she’d been detailing their happy, cosy existence, Leah had been adrift; without parents, without stability, without protection. If only she’d known, if only she’d bothered to find out – but she hadn’t.

  And, in truth, what would she have done if she had known?

  Nothing.

  Grace was honest enough with herself to know that they would have done absolutely nothing if they’d found out about Leah’s fate all those years ago, because by then they loved Cassie as their own, and they’d been blessed with Erin and they were complete. Finally, a proper family. The pain beneath her ribcage pulsed.

  Tom was still talking. ‘Think about it. What good will it do, telling Cassie? None. It’s too late now. It would be cruel to tell her just to salve our consciences.’

  Grace couldn’t disagree with his logic, but she still hated the weight of the deceit. She took a few breaths and nodded, glad of Tom’s firm grip around her fingers. They sat holding hands, shoring up each other’s resolve, until the ringing of Grace’s work phone became too insistent to ignore.

  Chapter 33

  MANCHESTER PICCADILLY Station was very different from Oldham. Buzzing, busy, much slicker, more anonymous. Cassie stood waiting underneath the departure boards, as agreed. Leah was late, as expected. She’d called the day before and sounded as if she was going to pull out of meeting up again. It had been a staccato conversation. At first, all Cassie could hear was background noise.

  ‘Leah?’ Something clattered on the other end of the line. ‘Leah? Is that you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Her voice sounded flat and lifeless, as if all the air had been punched out of her.

  ‘Are you still on for meeting up on Friday afternoon?’

  ‘I can’t.’ Leah’s voice was distant, as if she wasn’t actually speaking into her phone.

  ‘Why?’ Cassie asked.

  ‘What?’ Leah sounded distracted.

  ‘Are we meeting or not?’

  ‘I was just talking to someone else.’ Leah’s voice drifted away again.

  ‘Look, if you’re too busy.’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s…wait, can’t ya?’ This seemed to be aimed at someone with her. There was a pause, then she said, ‘I’m ’aving some grief off the council. They’re being twats about my rent.’ Cassie had no idea what to say. There was more talking in the background. ‘Yeah, in a minute.’ Again, this wasn’t aimed at Cassie. Then Leah was back. ‘I can meet, but it’ll have to be tomorrow, and in town. I’ll text ya.’

  Hence Piccadilly, and another day of skipped college and more lies to her parents.

  Cassie suddenly stumbled forward, bashing into a couple who were passing by. They harrumphed and hurried away. Someone had thumped into her, hard.

  ‘Soz.’ Leah smiled, thinly.

  Cassie hadn’t expected such a sudden, physical – playful? – greeting. It seemed out of character, but then what did she really know about Leah’s personality? It all felt so awkward and false. ‘Where’d you come from?’ she asked.

  ‘Naz dropped me off in town.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cassie had no idea who Naz was. She thought it best not t
o ask. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  Leah scanned the concourse. ‘There’s a Maccie D’s.’

  Standing in line, Cassie wondered what people made of them. A posh mixed-race girl and a not-posh-at-all white girl – a world of difference in the way they looked, sounded, even in the way they stood. Not natural friends, not obviously related, so what, then? At the counter Cassie panicked, not knowing what she wanted. The server asked for her order again, like a robot. Leah cut across her and ordered a burger meal – large – with a doughnut. Cassie, just to get away from the counter, asked for an ice-cream sundae. As their order was dumped on to the tray, Cassie realised that her choice made her look like an eight-year-old.

  She paid and was relieved to follow Leah up the stairs to the big seating area. It was rammed, not the best place for a private conversation, but Leah seemed unfazed. She weaved through the crowds, aiming for a free table near the back wall. Leah ate quickly. Cassie toyed with her sticky ice-cream-and-caramel mess. Neither of them seemed able, or inclined, to be the first to start talking.

  Burger finished, Leah wiped her fingers and tossed her serviette onto the table. ‘You didn’t say owt to your parents, did ya?’

  ‘No,’ Cassie said.

  ‘Good.’ Leah picked at the remnants of her fries. ‘What’re they like?’ She wanted to stoke the embers.

  Jesus, how was Cassie supposed to answer that? ‘They’re okay. Grace, my mum, works at an insurance company, and my dad, Tom, at a design agency.’ Head of department and partner respectively, but Cassie had enough awareness not to crow. Leah didn’t react. Cassie couldn’t tell whether she was bored or angry.

  ‘And?’ Leah was beyond angry, but she gave no sign of it.