The Forgotten Sister

by Caroline Bond

‘You picked me and dumped her – on the basis of a photograph!’ Cassie’s voice was shaking with emotion.

  Once again Grace answered very quietly, but very clearly, ‘No.’

  ‘What?’ Cassie’s eyes widened.

  ‘When they first started talking to us about adopting you, they told us about Leah. We were shown the reports on her. They told us about her problems, the psychological damage that had been done to her by the neglect she’d suffered – that you’d both suffered.’

  ‘She was just a little girl,’ Cassie threw at them.

  Grace nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I know. We knew that it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘She was my sister.’

  ‘Yes.’ Grace drew a shallow, quick breath. ‘That’s why we went to see her.’

  Cassie struggled to form the next question. ‘What’re you talking about?’

  Grace took a deep breath. ‘We went to visit her.’

  Cassie looked from Grace to Tom and back again, unaware that she was slowly shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. ‘And?’

  And it was one of the hardest things they ever had to do.

  Grace could still very clearly remember the unfurling of hope in her heart on seeing Cassidie’s photograph, the belief that their worn-thin dreams might, just might, become a reality. Then the shock when Steph dropped the bombshell of a sister – an emotionally fragile, older sister.

  They had felt tricked.

  ‘I know it’s a huge thing to throw at you, but we do have a responsibility to try our very best to keep siblings together, wherever possible. It’s so much better for them in the long term. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t raise it with you, on behalf of both the girls.’ As Steph talked, the excitement that had ignited inside them guttered. They heard Steph out. They had to. She gave them no choice. They listened to her carefully worded description of the challenge that Leah represented, the damage that had been done to her, the need for patience, and time, and above all unconditional love. Love, Steph tentatively suggested, that they might be able to provide.

  ‘But this isn’t what’s been agreed.’ Tom said. ‘We applied for one child. A girl, under five. That’s all we’re cleared for. This isn’t the plan.’ Steph shuffled in her seat and shifted her gaze to Grace, which irritated Tom, hugely – a confirmation of the stereotypes: the caring mum, the hard-ass dad. Steph should’ve known better.

  She sighed and sat back in her seat. ‘I completely understand your hesitation. And I know it’s a lot to ask. I just wanted you to be aware of the situation, of the option…of trying to keep them together.’ She was beginning to give up, Tom could hear it in her voice and, ashamed as he was, he felt relieved.

  ‘She’s seven, you say?’ Grace spoke softly.

  They both stared at her.

  ‘Nearly eight,’ Steph said. She leant forward again, her hand poised over the file, ready to divulge more.

  ‘And how bad are her behavourial problems?’ Grace asked.

  They went to see Leah a week later. Grace quietly, implacably insisted that they must. ‘She’s Cassidie’s sister. We have to. We owe her that.’ Morally, Tom agreed and so he acquiesced, but privately every fibre within him wanted to avoid going anywhere near the child and the problems she represented.

  Steph drove them to the meeting. It was a long, conversation-starved journey into the hinterland of north Manchester. After getting lost in the maze of very similar-looking streets, they eventually parked outside what looked like an average house. Well, almost. The locked gate was the first clue. The high, solid fence, the second. The lack of an identifying number or name, the third. They were let in by a woman with a tired face, a resolutely cheery manner and a bunch of keys.

  Each step took them further away from normality.

  The weird mix of homeliness and high security continued inside the house. There were keypads on most of the doors and wire-mesh glass in the windows, but there were also kids’ drawings Blu-tacked to the walls and plenty of toys dotted around. A fluffy pink slipper lay abandoned on the floor in the hallway, along with a scooter. There was the strong smell of toast and cleaning fluid. It was an unnerving concoction.

  Tom and Grace entered a side room, breath held, but it was just a lounge with a selection of saggy chairs and sofas and a bookshelf crammed full of picture books. Oddly, the curtains were drawn, which blocked out the sunlight and made the room gloomy. They sat together on one of the sofas. Grace shrugged off her jacket. Tom kept his on. The woman, Nina, welcomed them and explained a little about her role and the ‘nature’ of the children who spent time in the house. She spoke clearly and honestly, and Tom saw Steph wince, more than once. Conflicting priorities, he presumed. Steph was keen to encourage them to keep an open mind. Nina keen to make them fully aware of what they might be considering taking on. ‘Might’ – even that was too strong a word. They were here to reassure themselves that they had given consideration to adopting both girls, but that didn’t mean they were seriously considering it. At least he wasn’t, and Grace said she wasn’t, although her insistence that they come was confusing. It was almost as if she wanted the shame and pain of their rejection of Cassidie’s sister to be as deep and absolute as possible. They could have said ‘no’ straight away, should have done, but they hadn’t, and now they were about to be tested – and shown to be wanting.

  Nina was still talking about the therapies they employed and the progress they were making with Leah. ‘As you can imagine, there were huge trust issues initially – there are with all our children – but I think she’s beginning to feel safe with us, and that’s lessening her anxiety. The flare-ups are far less frequent.’

  ‘What causes her “flare-ups”?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Well, there seem to be two main triggers. Personal space, for one; if the staff come too close, too quickly, that frightens her – especially male members of staff. Leah still doesn’t really like to be touched, by anyone and…’ there was a noticeable hesitation, ‘her interactions with other children can still be a little…problematic. The separation has been very hard on her.’

  The reference to Cassidie hung in the air.

  ‘Problematic, how?’ Tom asked.

  Nina looked at them, gauging how much honesty was appropriate. ‘She tends to hone in on the little ones, gets a bit obsessed. It’s not always appropriate. When staff intervene, Leah can sometimes react. There’s been some physical aggression. Kicking, nipping, the occasional bite. It’s never aimed at any of the other children,’ she clarified quickly. ‘But, as I said, we’re having far fewer incidents than when she first arrived. She’s learning to control her anger and her grief – with help. She’s doing very well, really, for a little girl who has been so severely neglected. But…’ she grew brisk, ‘I really think the best thing is for you to meet her.’ And with that, she got up and walked out.

  Tom’s stomach contracted. Grace stared at her clasped hands.

  The wait was agonising.

  A few minutes later they heard the sound of a woman’s voice in the hallway and Nina re-entered the room. She walked over to the far wall and pulled on a cord. The curtains parted, revealing not a window, but a floor-to-ceiling one-way mirror with a view into the adjoining room. The door in the other room opened and they watched as a young woman walked into the brightly lit lounge, followed by a small, thin, white child, who went to sit on the facing sofa, as instructed. The young woman kept up a stream of chatter while she opened a toy chest and started pulling out drawing paper and pens and some simple boxed games. Tom and Grace could hear every sound.

  ‘What would you like to do today, Leah? Draw, play Snails’ Race again?’ The woman sat next to the child and arranged the playthings on the table, trying to attract her attention. ‘Leah?’ There was no response. ‘I’m sure we’ve got Hungry Hippos in here somewhere, as well. What about that?’ The child didn’t react. Tom and Grace both stood up. They walked slowly towards the glass, drawn by an awful cu
riosity. Intuitively, they positioned themselves on either side of the mirror, hiding themselves at the edges.

  Pale-blue eyes, white, almost translucent skin, her hair cropped into a severe fringe. Thin arms. Bony knees. Everything about Leah seemed washed-out and fragile. Everything except her expression, which was steady and unsettling. To Tom, she looked far older than seven. Her face had the same pinched toughness about it that he saw on the teenage girls who hung about in the centre of town. She was like a tiny, thin, hard-faced woman. To Grace, she looked like a ghost-child, a faint, watered-down version of what a normal little girl should look like, behave like, be like. Neither of them could see her as the sister of the smiling, healthy toddler that their hearts had already embraced.

  Cassidie attracted attention.

  This child repelled it.

  ‘She can’t hear or see you. We use the viewing room to observe their progress – it’s much less intrusive. Play is, unsurprisingly, one of the things many of our children struggle with. They just don’t know how to do it, especially children like Leah, who have had caring responsibilities thrust on them far too soon. But as you can see, she’s coping well with the one-to-one attention. That’s another thing that can be quite alien to them – positive attention. It can be overwhelming, when they’re not used to it.’

  In silence Tom and Grace watched, fascinated.

  After a few seconds Grace looked away, ashamed at her confused and conflicted response, but she was immediately drawn back to studying the scene being enacted a few feet away, on the other side of the glass. She watched the efforts of the carer to engage the child, and the child’s steadfast refusal to be engaged, and the closer Grace looked, the more she saw. She noticed that the child was growing agitated. She kept clenching and unclenching her small hands, rocking ever so slightly in her seat. And Grace saw her glance from the woman to the mirror and back again – furtive, restless looks. Grace suddenly knew, with absolute certainty, that the child was aware she was being watched. At the exact moment this thought came into Grace’s head, the child stood up and walked towards the mirror.

  Tom and Grace both took a step backwards. The child came right up to the glass and stared through it, ignoring the efforts of the carer to distract her. There were a few agonising moments when they all watched, transfixed by her small, sharp little face – so close to them, and yet so separate. Her breath misted the glass. Her eyes stared intently, at nothing. Then she jerked her head back and smashed it against the mirror – hard. The thud went through their hearts.

  There was a second of shocked nothingness, then a fluster of action.

  Nina ran out of the room, the young woman scrambled to her feet and moved towards the child. She didn’t flinch. She merely tilted her head back on her thin, pale neck. Thud! Her forehead bashed against the glass again. The noise was worse the second time. Instinctively Grace stretched out her hands to stop her, but her fingertips smashed into the glass and bounced off. A painful juddering sensation ran up her arms. Please God, not a third time. But thankfully the carer got hold of the child just in time and pulled her backwards.

  Nina ran into the playroom and dropped on her knees beside the little girl, who was now twisting and screaming in the young woman’s arms. The noise filled the viewing room, amplified and distorted by the microphones. The desire to turn away from the thrashing child and stricken faces of the adults was strong, but far stronger was the awful compulsion to watch.

  Steph finally realised that she needed to do something. ‘Sorry. This is really very distressing. I think it best if we leave, give them some space to help Leah calm down. They’ll take good care of her, I’m sure.’ She ushered Tom and Grace out. They did not resist.

  Tom heard the screaming in his head for days afterwards.

  The small pinched face on the other side of the glass stayed with Grace for ever.

  The possibility of them adopting Leah was never raised again.

  They were culpable.

  Grace knew it. Tom knew it.

  They had rejected Leah.

  But…had it been the wrong decision?

  They couldn’t say.

  ‘She spent the rest of her life in care. Eighteen different placements – never in one place long enough to feel safe, never mind loved. That’s what you condemned her to. What? Why the sad faces? You didn’t know?’ The acid in Cassie’s stomach churned. ‘Well, I guess that’s because you never bothered to find out, did you?’

  Grace hung her head. ‘No.’

  Tom tried to speak again, but to his dismay, Cassie wouldn’t let him. ‘No! Mum!’

  Grace was forced to try and defend them. ‘What your dad was going to say was that we did try to keep in touch with her. We wrote a letter to her, every year. She never replied. We took that as a sign that she didn’t want any contact.’

  Cassie was shaking her head, disbelief and distress contorting her already-smudged and swollen features. Grace suddenly stopped talking, rose from the bed and left the room. In her absence they fell silent. Cassie’s head hurt. Too much had happened, too fast, in the past twenty-four hours. It had left her feeling unhinged. She tried to rest her chin on her hand to ground herself, but it was too painful; every part of her body felt tender and bruised. The three of them sat, tense and unspeaking, isolated by their own turmoil, until Grace’s footsteps sounded again on the stairs. She came back into the room with her laptop.

  Grace opened it and tapped at the keyboard. When she’d found the letters, she crossed the room and placed the laptop on Cassie’s knees. ‘They’re all there.’

  Cassie’s eyes shuttled back and forth as she read. A click, a skim-read, another click, another skim-read, then another and another. Her expression became clouded with confusion and doubt. She held a tissue against her leaking, damaged eye and read on. No one risked interrupting her. At last she looked up. ‘Leah never said anything about any letters.’ Leah had been crystal-clear that when Tom and Grace abandoned her, that had been it. And yet here they were: a catalogue of Cassie’s life across the years, full of the painstaking details of a happy childhood, all addressed to Leah. ‘Maybe she didn’t get them?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Grace said. ‘But we sent them. Every year.’ Tom was grateful for the we. Then Grace risked another small, defensive statement. ‘According to Social Services, they were collected. But she never responded.’

  More lies. From her mum or from Leah? Despite her rage at her parents, Cassie’s gut said ‘Leah’. The bulging file, full of paperwork, in Leah’s flat? Cassie’s head throbbed. She shoved the laptop aside

  Tom risked opening his mouth. ‘They told us that when they got in touch with Leah – when they were trying to trace your biological mum – she flatly refused to have any contact with us…or you.’

  ‘That’s because she hates you.’ Neither Grace nor Tom knew how to respond to that. ‘She’s furious: at everyone, but most of all at you.’

  ‘It sounds like she’s had a very difficult life. It must have affected her,’ Grace said.

  ‘You think! She has every right to be angry. What happened is so unfair. Me and her, we’re so different, and we didn’t have to be.’ The momentum seemed to be draining from Cassie. She reached up and cradled her swollen cheek, and Grace ached to be able to comfort her. She took a chance and sat down on the floor next to her daughter. Cassie didn’t move away. It was progress of sorts.

  ‘How often have you met up with her?’ Grace asked tentatively.

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Enough to…’

  ‘Get to know her.’ Cassie stalled. They waited for her to go on. ‘Or I thought I did.’ They all noted the qualification.

  ‘So what is she like?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Like I said: angry…and scary, and unpredictable, but she’s brave, and she can be funny. She works. She’s got a flat. She’s got a life. But she’s so on her own.’ Cassie rocked slightly as she spoke.

  ‘So you’ve made a connection?’ Grace said.

  ‘We al
ready had a connection. She’s my sister!’ The distress was drowning out Cassie’s anger.

  ‘But what happened last night? If she’s so special, why were you in such a state when we picked you up?’ They had forgotten that Erin was even in the room.

  Cassie shifted, uneasily. ‘Nothing. Nothing that matters now.’

  Erin couldn’t let that stand. She couldn’t bear the thought of Leah being Cassie’s sister. All it had done was bring trouble. She hated the way they were all heading in totally different directions since Leah had crashed into their lives. It had to stop. ‘That’s not true. I’ve never seen you so upset. Something happened.’

  Cassie seemed to be wrestling with conflicting loyalties. ‘It just went wrong.’

  ‘How?’ Erin again.

  Tom and Grace were surprised by her persistence, but grateful. This had to come out.

  ‘It got a bit out of hand. Leave it, Erin.’

  Erin paused, her face giving away the stress she was feeling, but she pushed on. ‘What do you mean? How did it get out of hand? And what about the money?’ Cassie glared, but said nothing. Erin turned her attention to her parents. ‘Leah’s been taking money off Cassie. Quite a lot.’

  ‘Has she?’ Tom asked, nervously.

  ‘Not taken. I gave her it. She needed it, and we owed her. It was the least I could do.’ Tom and Grace exchanged a look, which Cassie intercepted. ‘Don’t! We have enough. She’s got nothing.’ The thought of Leah’s small, bare flat came back to her.

  ‘Let’s not worry about that now.’ Grace wanted to take the tension down a notch.

  But Erin was suddenly relentless. ‘She got Cassie to steal for her.’

  ‘She did not!’ Cassie started up as if she was going to fly at Erin.

  ‘Girls, girls! The money doesn’t matter. Please. We can sort it out later.’ Grace positioned herself between her daughters. ‘What I still don’t understand is why last night ended up the way it did. And why you were there, Erin?’ Grace looked from one daughter to the other. They simply stared at each other, a deluge of things left unsaid surging between them.