Читать книгу Torn: A terrified girl. A shocking secret. A terrible choice. - Rosie Lewis - Страница 11

Two days later, on the last day of term, the doorbell rang barely ten minutes after I’d arrived home from the school run. It had been a difficult forty-eight hours and so, even though there wasn’t a single line through any of the chores on my ‘to-do’ list and it was my last chance to get everything done without all the children at home, I could have hugged the weighty woman standing on the doorstep when I noticed the official-looking identity card hanging around her neck.

‘Karron, Bright Heights,’ she said in a heavy American accent. ‘You weren’t expecting me, right?’

Since Taylor and Reece’s arrival I hadn’t heard anything from social services and there were so many questions I wanted to ask, so much I felt I needed to get off my chest. As Karron was from my fostering agency she wouldn’t have direct information on the children; that would come from Maisie. Even so, it was a relief to see someone official.

‘Er, no I wasn’t but I – it’s very good to see you,’ I said, pulling off a pair of pink rubber gloves. ‘Please, come in.’ My usual supervising social worker from the fostering agency was on a sabbatical from social work and Bright Heights hadn’t told me who was filling in for him. A TV and film extra in his younger days, Des had left two months earlier for California, where he’d managed to secure a bit part in a hospital drama for a cable network. We had developed quite a close friendship since meeting two years earlier and besides being sorry to see him go, I was anxious about who might replace him. The backbone of fostering, early on in a placement, is often a daily grind of stress – an effective supervising social worker can transform the way a foster carer deals with those early problems, often just by offering unswerving support.

‘We’ll record this as one of your unannounced then,’ said Karron as she shrugged off her denim jacket and draped it over the side table in the hall. Social workers are required to make a minimum of two unannounced visits to the foster home each year to check that standards of care are being maintained and all is as it should be. So far I’d been lucky – they had failed to catch me in on those days when the house was covered in a fine layer of dust, Lego strewn across the floor.

‘This is my son, Jamie,’ I said as Karron followed me through the living room. Jamie was tucked up on the sofa, immersed in reading a book. ‘He’s feeling a bit poorly today.’

‘Well, hi there, Jamie,’ Karron chirped. ‘Nothing too bad I hope.’

Jamie had slept badly, his asthma, which was normally fairly well-controlled, flaring up at the onset of a cold. Now, though, he was looking perkier than he had for hours. I guessed that Karron’s accent – one he usually only heard on TV – had brought on the sudden improvement. ‘I’m a bit wheezy,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear.

‘Ah, poor guy. You rest up. I’ll talk to your mom in the kitchen.’

Jamie nodded, watching her with amused interest.

As I filled the kettle, Karron dropped her bag on the kitchen floor then leaned slantwise on the worktop, elbows down, chin resting on one fist. Her hair was wavy, brown and long, reaching halfway down her back. At a guess, I put her in her mid-40s, though the shiny lipstick and sparkling eye shadow she wore gave her a youthful air. With the top half of her chest strewn over the wooden chopping board and her legs stretched out behind her, she looked thoroughly at home. The sight immediately lowered my guard so that when we’d finished making small talk and she asked how things were going, I felt I could tell her anything.

‘Difficult,’ I said, reaching for two mugs from the top cupboard. I lowered them to the worktop and turned to face her. ‘Reece is settling well I think. He’s very jumpy, craves security, but he’s turning to me for comfort so I’m not too worried about him. He’s very sweet. I had a word with his teacher this morning about his reading books. He wanted to move on to something a bit more challenging and when she agreed he was over the moon, bless him. Taylor though –’ I paused, lifting two jars of coffee up for Karron to choose from. She gestured towards the smallest with a nod of her head. ‘Black and strong,’ she said, ‘and don’t hold back on the sugar.’

I grinned, already certain that Karron was going to be a rock.

‘What about Taylor?’ she asked, helping herself to one of the biscuits on a plate in front of her. ‘She’s ten, right?’

‘Yep, ten. Going on fifteen.’ I scooped two generous teaspoons of instant coffee into one of the mugs and a teabag into the other. ‘I think we may have got off on the wrong foot,’ I said, narrowing my eyes against the rising steam as I poured hot water from the kettle into the mugs. Karron took the proffered drink and listened without interrupting as I explained the mix-up over their sex. ‘As soon as I laid eyes on them I thought they wouldn’t be able to stay and so I’m afraid I didn’t give them the welcome they deserved.’

Karron sipped cautiously at her coffee, leaving a trace of coral lipstick on the rim. ‘But you sorted things, right?’

‘Well, yes, with moving the rooms around and everything,’ I called out as I pottered to the fridge, removing the milk. ‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing to do with that, but Taylor seems so angry. With me mostly,’ I added, pouring some milk into my tea.

After returning the carton to the fridge I sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and waited for Karron to respond.

She tilted her head to one side, eyeing me with a bright, intuitive gaze. ‘She’s gonna be though, isn’t she? I mean, that’s a normal response, right?’

‘Absolutely, yes, of course it is. But –’ Suddenly lost for words, I glanced into the garden. The March sun hung low over our tumble-down fence, our border of daffodils iridescent under the cloudless sky. A single yellow petal, browning at the edges, was torn off by the breeze and danced a wild jig across the lawn. Behind me, the fridge hummed, loud and rattling, as if egging me on to say something. I sighed, wondering how to put my feelings of helplessness into words.

‘But?’ prompted Karron.

With a teaspoon still clasped in my fingers, I lifted my hands. ‘I know it sounds silly. Of course she’s going to be angry. And hurt and confused and lost – I know all of that and I understand. I do.’ I sighed, looking Karron in the eye. ‘I suppose the real problem is –’ I hesitated, took a breath. It was a tough one to articulate, because somehow I felt that as a foster carer, I should know better. ‘Well, I suppose the truth is that I really don’t know how to deal with her.’ I placed the teaspoon firmly on the side. ‘There, I’ve said it now.’

‘Feels good, huh?’ Karron was watching me with a slight, knowing smile on her face.

‘To let it out?’ I nodded. ‘Yes I suppose it does.’

She took another sip of her coffee, cradled the cup in her hands and then lifted her elbows towards me. ‘You know, you mustn’t beat up on yourself for having doubts; the best foster carers are the ones that question themselves. Those who think they’re perfect are the ones I worry about. So – go for it, girl. Gimme me all you got.’

‘OK, you asked for it,’ I said with a wry smile. ‘Well, for a start she sneers at everything I say. I mean literally, every time I open my mouth. If I ask her to stop doing something all she comes back with is: “Why should I?” Oh and she does this infuriating thing,’ I said, flicking my fingers close to my eyes. ‘It’s SO annoying! She falls short of making contact so when I ask her to stop she says: “God-er, I never even touched you! You’re sooooo moody.” She’s obsessed with the computer, some site called Myspace in particular, and she goes nuts when I tell her that she’s had enough screen time. There’s just –’

I stopped, noticing that Karron was staring at me with a dubious expression. ‘Myspace? I don’t think she should be on there. Myspace has an age rating, I believe.’

‘Taylor told me that it’s a kids’ site. She said all of her friends are on there.’

Karron stifled a snigger and I reddened, covering my face with my hands. What a fool I was, being so easily duped. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ the social worker said as I slowly lowered them. ‘They all try it on. Check it out but I’m pretty sure you have to be around thirteen or fourteen.’

I sighed. Disagreements over screen time were nothing new – even Emily and Jamie baulked sometimes when I asked them to turn their gadgets off, and they had grown up with the same, consistent rules. Children who had been given free rein online were bound to find the sudden imposition of restrictions frustrating, I knew that, and clashes over screen time were common in foster carers’ homes. ‘They’ll be no reasoning with her if she’s not allowed to use it. It’s like you can almost feel an undercurrent of aggression whenever she walks into the room, slamming the door behind her. I know it’s only been four days and I sound like such a lightweight but, really, the thought of having her around all day for the next two weeks –’ I tapped the worktop with my fingers, my mind so caught up in the events of the last few days that I was looking at Karron without really registering her. ‘It’s a bit daunting to be honest. She won’t even get ready for school in the morning. And then once she’s there, she won’t come home.’

Karron knitted her brow. ‘Huh?’

‘Sit-ins. She performs sit-ins, refusing to leave her classroom. It was 5 o’clock before she agreed to come home yesterday afternoon. Thankfully my ex-husband had collected Emily and Jamie or they’d have been waiting for me at the school gates. I’ve a nasty feeling she’s going to do it again this afternoon and what with Jamie feeling under the weather and all my back-up carers busy,’ I took a breath, ‘well, I’m out of ideas. I just don’t know what to do about it.’

‘What does the school say?’

‘Taylor’s teacher is as exasperated as I am,’ I said with a rueful smile. ‘She’s only young and it’s playing havoc with her social life.’

Karron broke into infectious laughter.

I grinned. ‘It sounds funny but at the time it’s so frustrating. And do you know the really odd thing?’

The social worker tilted her head.

‘I get the feeling that her heart isn’t in it at all. There’s no denying that she’s a big personality. She’s bullish and dynamic, and she’s got a mighty temper. But there are times when I think she’s acting up because she thinks she should.’ I rubbed my hand over my hair. ‘I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but sometimes I get the feeling she finds it all as tiresome as I do. It’s as if she’s stuck playing a role and there’s nothing anyone can do to help.’

There was a pause, Karron examining her plump hands as if searching for an answer among the network of veins. ‘I’m tempted to tell you to grab her hand and drag her out but, heck, you’d get into a whole heap of trouble if you did that. You Brits are just so uptight.’

I laughed out loud. ‘You’re right there. So, what can I do?’

Karron lifted her hands, palms upward. ‘When it comes to kids, there’s one universal truth: they think the world revolves around them. I swear to God, I’ve known the most stubborn kids willing to move mountains for a few extra dollars in their pocket money. That’s the only thing I can think of – tempting her away with something she badly wants. Have you spoken to her social worker about it?’

‘Maisie? Yes, I called her yesterday but she wasn’t – well, she’s a bit – she wasn’t much help, to be honest.’

‘A bit what?’

I chewed my lip. ‘Erm, a bit, you know …’

The social worker shook her head.

‘A bit airy-fairy.’

Karron slapped her hand down on the worktop. ‘Airy-fairy?! W-hat the hell does that mean?’

‘Um. A bit too far left of liberal. You know what I mean don’t you? Away with the fairies.’

She was still looking bemused. ‘You mean she’s crap at her job?’

My jaw dropped. ‘No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I’m sure she’s very nice. I don’t know her that well anyway and –’

‘Jeeez, you lot are hard work,’ said Karron, shaking her head and laughing. ‘You’re all just so polite. I love England, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes you just gotta let go, you know?’

Behind Karron, I could see Jamie craning his head, trying to keep track of our conversation.

I nodded, suppressing a grin.

‘In the States we’re not afraid to use commands. Sure, we call them instructions, but that’s just splitting hairs. It’s all the same damn thing. We’re a lot tougher on parents too, back home. If we remove a child, the parents have a year to get themselves together or they’re out of the picture. And they have to do it of their own free will; we don’t have all the help and programmes you have here. The Brits treat everyone with kid gloves, but sometimes folks just need telling, you know? So they know what’s expected. If they fall short, well, that’s their own damn fault. You can be as polite as you wanna be but kids need to understand that your requests ain’t optional.’

‘I have tried that, Karron. I can be firm when I want to be.’

She raised her eyebrows as if she found that idea difficult to imagine.

‘I can, really. But when you’re dealing with someone who doesn’t seem to give a hoot, the usual rules fly out of the window. In terms of discipline, my hands are tied – I can’t limit her pocket money or send her to her room. What can I do?’

Karron frowned. ‘Hmm, I’ve got a feeling that there’s a refresher course coming up with all the latest techniques for managing difficult behaviour. I’ll give them a call and book you in, that OK?’

I nodded, feeling lighter somehow. When social workers are judgemental, foster carers clam up and, in the end, everyone suffers. It was refreshing to be able to sit with a professional and talk in a leisured, conversational way about the problems I was experiencing. ‘Great,’ said Karron, lowering her empty mug to the worktop. Then, as she gathered up her diary and handbag, she asked something that secured her position as one of the best social workers I had ever known, aside from Des. ‘So, how are your two coping with all of this?’

I took a breath. ‘Fairly well. I mean, Jamie and Reece hit it off straight away; it’s like they’re already best buddies. And over the last day or two Emily and Taylor have been spending more time together. They both love art so they’ve been colouring and making beaded bracelets.’

Karron tilted her head. ‘But?’

I took a breath, raised my eyes to the ceiling. ‘Taylor and Jamie,’ I sliced my hand through the air, whispering so that Jamie couldn’t hear. ‘Not so good. Every time Jamie speaks Taylor rolls her eyes or makes some comment. It’s difficult to watch.’

Karron nodded, bit her lip. ‘I’ll get you booked onto that course. You might find it helps a bit, though sometimes it’s just a case of gritting your teeth and getting through the ugly bit.’

I gave her a grim smile and she patted my arm. ‘Right, if that’s all,’ she turned to walk away and then spun around. ‘Oh, wait up, I’ve gotta tell you, there’s been a complaint.’

I grimaced, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned it before. ‘Oh no! What?’

‘Take it easy, Rosie. It’s no big deal. The older one, what’s her name again?’

‘Taylor?’

‘Yeah, right. She’s told her mum that she’s not allowed to watch TV.’

I blew out a frustrated lungful of air. ‘That’s not true! All I said was we’re not leaving it on all the time.’

‘Fair enough,’ Karron shrugged. ‘Anyway, Mum’s complained to the local authority and the social worker, Millie, did you say?’

I shook my head. ‘Maisie.’

Karron poked the air with her forefinger. ‘Yep. She got on to me. Asked me to offer you some words of advice.’

I pressed my lips together. ‘So what now?’

Karron shrugged. ‘If she complains again, tell her to read a book. And take that worried look off your face! You’re doing just fine.’

As she walked through the living room she lifted her hand towards Jamie. He waved back, watching her avidly. ‘You take care, little guy. I’ll be seeing y’all soon.’

She was gone by the time the thought occurred to me – when did Taylor get a chance to speak to her mum?

Back in the living room, Jamie looked appalled. ‘She’s been complaining about us,’ he said, his eyes glistening with angry tears.

‘Not us exactly,’ I said, mildly, perching on the edge of the sofa beside him. ‘She’s just upset about having to leave her parents and she’s looking for ways to let all the bad stuff out.’ I stroked his fringe back from his forehead. ‘It’s scary, coming into foster care.’

Absorbing what I’d said, his eyes flickered and then his expression softened. ‘Yeah, I suppose, but –’ he gave me a sideways glance then looked away, picking at the bobbles on the blanket covering his knees, ‘– I don’t really like her much. Taylor.’ After a moment he looked up, assessing my reaction.

I grabbed his hand. ‘I know it’s been difficult, honey, but things will improve.’ As I spoke, I was aware of the lack of conviction in my own voice.

‘How long’s she staying?’

‘I have no idea yet,’ I said, guilt tightening my chest so that my voice sounded strained. I cleared my throat. ‘But we’ll do lots of nice things over the next two weeks, OK? I’m sure that will help everything to settle. By the time you go back to school you’ll be feeling differently, you just wait and see.’

Still at the age when parents seemed to know everything, he brightened, wrapping his arms around my neck for a hug. ‘So, what did you think of our new supervising social worker?’ I asked, pulling back.

‘She’s so cool!’ he said. ‘Why does she talk like that?’

‘She’s American.’

His eyes widened. ‘Des is in America. Do you think she’s met him?’

I smiled, giving his cheek an affectionate pinch. ‘I doubt it. America is a huge country.’

He frowned, concentrating. ‘Which part of America is she from? Near Disneyland?’

‘You mean, which state. Hmm, I’m not sure. Sounds to me as if she’s from the South. I’ll ask her next time, if you like.’

Jamie slapped his knee. ‘Sure thang, Mom!’

I laughed absent-mindedly, my thoughts drifting back to the mystery contact between Taylor and her mum. Apart from going to school, Taylor hadn’t been out of my sight since the day she had arrived. How on earth had she got a message to her mum?