The Foster Child

by Jenny Blackhurst

  ‘Imogen?’ Edward’s voice pulls me back to the small office. ‘I wanted to find out how things went at the school yesterday. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the head, but we’ve had to rearrange it a few times. I heard about what happened. Is everything okay?’

  I thought back to the conversation in Florence Maxwell’s office a few days earlier, the one in which she told me that I’d made a real difference in the school and that she wanted me to be the school advocate. Does she still feel that way now, after what happened yesterday? It’s stupid of me to feel like it was somehow my fault – Place2Be are there to help the students talk, give them support if needed, not stamp out every incident of violence and bullying overnight, yet I can’t shake the feeling that I should have been able to foresee this, that maybe my closed-minded view of Ellie is a factor in what had happened to Naomi.

  I swallow nervously. I’m letting my imagination get the better of me. I’m letting the pressure of what happened last time I was wrong cloud my judgement in this case. Ellie Atkinson is no more the devil than I am Mother Teresa. When the curtains were opened in the lunch hall, she was sitting in exactly the same position she had been in minutes before. She’s nothing to do with this – Naomi has obviously upset more than one person this year.

  ‘As far as I’m aware, Florence is really happy with the work I’ve been doing at the school. Yesterday was an isolated incident unrelated to my case. Everything seems to be going perfectly. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’

  66

  Ellie

  Ellie moves quickly through the wood, sometimes putting out a hand to steady herself against the cold bark of the broad oak trees. The light here is dim, so thick are the branches above her, even though they barely have any leaves left now. She is alone, on her way to meet Mary, but she isn’t scared. Twigs crack beneath her feet and she hears the occasional rustle of birds landing in the trees above her. Her feet won’t move as fast as she wants to go and the clearing seems a million miles further than it was last time Mary brought her here.

  Mary’s got something to show her. Something exciting. Ellie hasn’t seen see her foster sister all day – she’s been waiting ever since she got her text message at lunchtime and she raced here as soon as school finished – but she knows exactly which clearing Mary means; they have come here a dozen times before. What seems to be the biggest, most solid tree in the forest stands in the middle of the clearing, and it is lighter here.

  Mary hasn’t arrived yet, but that’s fine, she’s always late. The tree looks different, though: the base of it is surrounded by twigs and stuff, all piled up around it. Ellie tries to think what it reminds her of, but she can’t conjure the picture her brain wants to show her. There’s a stump off to one side and she sits down, pulls out her phone from her pocket and texts Mary.

  Where are you?

  It doesn’t matter, though, she has no reason to be afraid. Ellie likes the clearing; it’s quiet and peaceful, and no one bothers them when they come here. It feels like a special place for the two of them sometimes; it feels like they are the only two people in the world to even know it exists. The trees don’t grow in this patch on purpose, it seems; they’ve left a space wide open for Ellie and Mary. Encircling them, closing them in, shutting them off from the world.

  She hears a noise from the trees: at last! Her heart beats faster in excited anticipation. What is it that Mary has to show her? She loves the idea of something special that just the two of them will share. She loves the idea of being special to anyone, especially Mary.

  The children emerge from the trees around her one by one, and suddenly Ellie is afraid. Some of them she recognises from school, others she’s never seen before in her life. They seem to move into the clearing as one, oozing in like liquid, rather than walking. And they are all staring at her, each and every one of them. Ellie looks between them and the tree and she knows now what it reminds her of. The way the twigs and logs have been placed round the edge . . . it looks like a bonfire.

  One girl stands forward, breaking free of the crowd, and for a blissful second Ellie thinks it’s Mary, that she has nothing to be afraid of because her sister is here and these people are just here to see the secret thing too. But it’s not Mary. It’s Naomi Harper.

  Naomi doesn’t look angry, or as though this is a prank or some kind of joke; she doesn’t seem to be having fun. Her hair has been cropped all over her head now, obviously as stylishly as her mother’s hairdresser could make it, and seeing her scalp show through in one spot gives Ellie a small thrill. Naomi Harper has no idea what she’s letting herself in for.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ellie’s voice doesn’t shake. She knows what will happen if she wants it to. She knows that despite Naomi’s confident expression, she is the one in control. ‘Go away.’

  The girl steps forward and points at her. ‘Grab her.’

  Two more people step forward, boys this time. Ellie recognises one of them from her year. He’s only eleven years old and has never said boo to a goose in class. She looks around, recognising more faces as she does so. How many children are here? Forty? Fifty? Enough for this to suddenly seem very real and very scary. Keep it together, Ellie, they can’t hurt you.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she snaps, but still they walk towards her. One of the boys seizes her arm roughly, dragging her to her feet.

  ‘Who’s got the ropes?’ Movement in the crowd as a tangle of rope is shoved into Naomi’s arms.

  Ellie concentrates all her anger on the two boys holding her, imagines them flying backwards, landing with a thud against the tree, or bursting into flames and running screaming through the woods. Nothing happens. Concentrate harder.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asks, partly afraid, partly curious. She has never seen children act like this before. Part of her wants to know if they will actually go through with any of this.

  ‘We know it was you who attacked me the other day in school. And we know it was you who killed Ms Gilbert.’

  ‘I did not,’ Ellie replies. ‘I didn’t touch you. And Gilbert fell. Everyone knows she fell.’

  ‘She was pushed,’ Naomi replies. ‘You pushed her.’

  ‘I wasn’t anywhere near her! I wasn’t anywhere near that place. I was, I was . . .’ Ellie’s sentence trails off. She doesn’t know where she was, does she? All she remembers is the screams, those horrible screams, and then waking up in the garden. Did she kill Hannah Gilbert? Did one of these children see her? Is that why they are here, for revenge?

  ‘See? You can’t deny it.’ The girl jabs a finger at her. ‘We all know what you are, Ellie Atkinson. We all know you’re a witch. You didn’t need to be anywhere near Ms Gilbert to cause her death.’ She steps closer now, close enough to touch Ellie, then reaches out and grabs a fistful of her hair. The boy at Ellie’s side releases her arm and Naomi drags her forward. Ellie stumbles, trips and falls to her knees. Pain shoots through the side of her head; Naomi still hasn’t let go of her hair. Now she pushes Ellie face-down into the dirt, leans as close as she can and hisses into her ear, ‘And you know what happens to witches, don’t you, Ellie? They get burned at the stake.’

  Ellie opens her mouth to scream, but the second boy shoves his hand roughly over her lips. ‘Don’t even think about it.’ He smiles at her. ‘No one can hear you.’

  The group watching them seem to be in some kind of trance. Only Naomi and the two boys move, dragging Ellie roughly to her feet and over to the large tree. One of the boys shoves her against it, and she feels the rough bark cutting into her arms and back. She pictures the ropes falling away as though her mind is a knife slicing into them, but still nothing happens. Has it deserted her? Is she just a regular girl now? Regular and defenceless?

  ‘Here.’ Naomi throws something at one of the boys and he catches it, his eyes widening.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘To keep her quiet, of course. Are you stupid?’ Naomi starts picking through the rope, looking for the en
d, and the boy shakes his head slowly.

  ‘I don’t know, Naomi,’ he says. ‘This is kind of horrible. I mean, are we going to put it in her mouth?’

  ‘For God’s sake, you just hold her still, I’ll do it.’ Naomi snatches the thing out of the boy’s hand and marches to the tree where Ellie stands, her legs shaking.

  ‘Open,’ she says roughly.

  Ellie looks at her dumbly. ‘Open what?’

  Naomi snorts. ‘Open your bloody mouth.’

  Ellie sees now what is in her hand: a tennis ball with a piece of fabric shoved through a hole in the middle. She clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. Naomi pinches her nose roughly until Ellie is so desperate for breath she thinks her head might explode. As she gasps for breath, Naomi takes the chance to shove the tennis ball roughly into her mouth, knotting the fabric at the back of her head. From the crowd of children there is a gasp of horror. Someone, Ellie isn’t sure who, shouts out.

  ‘Naomi, you sure about this? She didn’t say—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Naomi snaps. ‘She attacked me! She killed Ms Gilbert. Are we going to let her get away with that? If none of the adults are going to do anything about it, then we need to stop her. We can’t have witches in Gaunt.’

  ‘She’s right,’ another child shouts. ‘My mum said there’s something weird about her. My mum said she had something to do with Ms Gilbert being at the flats in the first place.’

  There’s no point in arguing, she can’t do any more than shake her head and even if she could speak they don’t want to listen. Fear is growing inside her, but something else too . . . anger. Something bad is going to happen here.

  She can barely breathe through the sides of the tennis ball Naomi has shoved into her mouth. Her eyes are still streaming with tears and her nose is getting clogged up now. If she doesn’t stop crying soon, she’s going to suffocate. She tries to push at the tennis ball with her tongue, but it makes no difference; it is firmly in place.

  ‘Tie her to the tree,’ Naomi commands.

  Ellie starts to scream and struggle against the two boys, thrashing her arms wildly. ‘Someone bloody help them,’ Naomi shouts. She drags another boy from the crowd and pushes him towards them. Ellie recognises him immediately as Tom Harris. She looks up at him, beseeching him with her eyes to put a stop to this. But Tom regards her with fear and anger, then shakes his head and picks up the ropes.

  ‘You brought this on yourself, Ellie. Why couldn’t you just leave Ms Gilbert alone?’ he hisses, handing the end of the rope to one of the boys holding her, then walking round the tree, wrapping the rope round her torso until she is held firmly against the trunk.

  ‘Tie it up,’ commands Naomi.

  ‘How do you want me to do that?’ Tom asks, sounding almost angry. ‘I’m not a bloody Boy Scout.’

  For just one second, Ellie thinks they might give up. That the fact that no one can tie a decent knot might put an end to this whole ridiculous mess. Then Naomi shakes her head again and grabs the end of the rope from Tom. Ellie watches as she weaves it expertly in and out of the other strands, each knot making it tighter and tighter. When she is finished, she gives the boys a smirk and steps forward to address the crowd.

  ‘This girl,’ she motions towards Ellie, who is frozen now, frozen in fear and by the ropes. She can’t open her mouth to defend herself; she can’t stop crying even though her blocked nose is threatening to suffocate her. ‘This girl killed one of our teachers, and if we don’t take care of her now, she will never stop until everyone who has done her any wrong is dead.’ Naomi turns to face her. ‘Ellie Atkinson, let this be a warning to you that we don’t like witches in Gaunt. We will not tolerate evil here.’

  She produces a piece of fabric from her bag and ties it roughly around Ellie’s eyes. Ellie can see nothing now, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hear. She can hear the gasps from the crowd as Naomi rifles through her bag once again. She hears one of the younger girls shriek, and then another sound, a sound she knows well. The sound of the flint. Flick, flame, flick, flame, flick, flame.

  They are going to burn her alive.

  67

  Imogen

  ‘Imogen?’

  I look up from my computer and blink my eyes. It feels like hours since I’ve spoken to another human being; I’ve been so deep in concentration trying to get these reports finished, trying to stop myself falling further behind with my work than I already am. ‘Yes?’

  The woman who called my name tilts her head towards the door. ‘There’s someone here to see you. A girl.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ I falter, realising I don’t even know the woman’s name. You have got to start making an effort with people here, I tell myself. Act as though you’re staying. ‘I’ll be along in a second.’

  A girl in reception? It must be Ellie. There aren’t any other girls who would visit me at the office. My other cases are further out, and I’d be surprised if half of them even know my name.

  What is she doing here? We have no appointment today.

  I rise from my seat and cross to the foyer, but when I buzz myself into reception, it’s not Ellie waiting there for me, it’s Mary. Her eyes are red and puffy, her face wet with tears.

  ‘Mary, what is it? What’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ She grabs my arm so hard it makes me start, and tries to pull me towards the doors. ‘You have to come with me, you have to help me. I don’t know what they’re doing to her!’

  ‘Whoa.’ I put a hand on her arm gently. ‘Just wait a second, slow down. What do you mean you don’t know what they’re doing to her? What’s going on, Mary?’

  Mary takes a deep breath. ‘It’s Ellie,’ she says, clearly trying to control her impatience. ‘I lost my phone at school today. And when I found it,’ she pulls a phone out of her bag and hands it to me, ‘this was on it. I don’t know who sent it, but I know where they mean. I can’t get hold of Sarah, so I need you to help me. I can’t go on my own.’

  I look down at the text message on the screen: Meet me at the clearing tonight, straight after school.

  ‘The clearing?’

  Mary nods. ‘That’s where we go sometimes, me and Ellie. It’s just in Parry’s Woods. There’s nothing dangerous about it,’ she adds, almost defensively.

  ‘Then why are you so worried?’

  ‘Because I didn’t send her this message. And if I didn’t send it, then who is trying to get Ellie into the woods? And why would they use my phone to do it?’

  I nod. ‘Okay, it doesn’t look good. Let me get my bag.’

  I let myself back into the office, already wondering what the hell I’m going to say to the rest of the team. As I walk in, Lucy raises her eyebrows enquiringly.

  ‘Oh, there’s been an emergency at home.’ The lie doesn’t exactly come out seamlessly, but it doesn’t sound too forced either, and Lucy must believe me because she nods.

  ‘No worries, Ted’s already left anyway. Hope everything is okay, see you in the morning.’

  I nod, relieved at how easy that was. ‘Thanks.’

  Back in reception, Mary is pacing the floor impatiently. ‘Come on.’ She grabs for my arm again but I sidestep her.

  ‘Okay, calm down. I’m sure everything is fine.’

  ‘Why would anyone want Ellie to go to the woods after school?’

  ‘How would I know?’ I ask. ‘Have you any idea who could have taken your phone? How have things been at school lately?’

  Mary shakes her head. ‘It disappeared at lunchtime and I couldn’t find it anywhere, so I went to look in lost property but it wasn’t there either. Then, after maths, it just reappeared back in my bag.’

  ‘So it must have been someone in your class?’

  ‘Not necessarily. They could have put it in my bag in the corridor. It was just sitting in the top, as if it had been there all along.’

  ‘And had Ellie replied?’

  ‘Yes. She just said, “Okay, see you there.”’ Mary lets out a little groan. ‘If
anything has happened to her, it’ll be my fault. I practically led her there.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I motion to the door of my car and Mary lets herself in. ‘You didn’t send that text message, even if Ellie thinks you did. Have the other kids been giving her a hard time?’

  Mary nods. ‘A lot of them are saying she had something to do with Ms Gilbert’s death. Ms Gilbert was quite popular in school – she was young and she got along with most people. It’s ridiculous.’ She picks at the dry skin around her thumbnail. ‘There’s no way Ellie could have had anything to do with Ms Gilbert being in that block of flats, or what happened to her there. She’s eleven years old, for God’s sake. She’s not a killer.’

  ‘Of course she’s not.’ My insides are churning. I thought we’d dealt with this. I thought things were getting better. Have I got it catastrophically wrong again?

  We sit in silence for another few minutes as I instinctively navigate the roads to Parry’s Woods. It’s somewhere I’ve been hundreds of times with Pammy when we were just young girls, no older than Mary. What I don’t know is who could have asked Ellie to go there, and why. What are they doing to her right now? Should I have phoned the police?

  ‘You should try calling Sarah again,’ I instruct Mary. ‘Then maybe we should call the police.’

  Mary shakes her head. ‘I’ll get into so much trouble. I’m supposed to be looking after Ellie. What if the police think that text message was from me?’

  ‘The police aren’t stupid, Mary. If it was really from you, then what would you be doing at my office trying to get me to go to the woods?’

  ‘Can’t you drive a little faster?’ Mary urges. ‘We’ll get there before the police could anyway.’

  We are already passing the high school. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk from the school to my office, and Mary didn’t set off until she saw the text message on her phone. It’s a twenty-minute walk to Parry’s Woods in the opposite direction, which means Ellie has probably been there for about ten minutes already with whoever was waiting for her.