by Casey Watson
‘What, just like that?’ I’d never heard anything of this kind move that fast.
‘There have been developments,’ he explained.
‘What, over and above what we already know?’
‘Over and above. Way over and above, as it turns out. Darby’s one of hundreds. Hundreds. Sickening, isn’t it? And there’s no question of her being placed with other family members, either. I’ve already been told of other relatives who are in the frame. No, she’ll be escaping all of it. And good bloody job too. And in the meantime, can you just keep on doing what you’re doing? Just continue to remove her from situations where you think she will react badly and keep pointing out to her the right way to behave? You can’t do much else, can you? And you’re doing a fine job.’
‘I’m not sure I am,’ I said, feeling terrible that I was so keen for her to leave us as soon as possible.
‘Oh, you are,’ he said. ‘Never forget the alternative she’d be faced with. And I’m sorry …’
‘John, for God’s sake, don’t apologise!’ I said.
I heard him chuckle. ‘Well, that’s rich. You flipping started it!’
Chapter 9
True to his word, John was back with news just forty-eight hours later. Of a couple – the Burtons – we’d had dealings with four or five years previously, while they’d looked after one of our foster children on respite. I remembered them well, principally because they were ‘posh’, for want of a better word, and lived in the countryside on a farm. Somewhere far enough away, in every respect, to give Darby a chance of a future in a different world.
But they didn’t want another foster child. They were looking to adopt now. To focus all their energies on a single child, like Darby, about whom they’d already been briefed. Because, according to the psychologists, they would be perfect for her too.
They were an older couple, childless, and after several years of short-term placements had decided the time had come to give up fostering and create a ‘forever home’ for one lucky child. An image floated into my mind, and, for once, it was a decidedly pleasant one; of a teenage girl in jodhpurs, riding a horse. As if it were going to be that simple.
But apparently it might be. ‘There’s no question of Darby having any contact with her biological family going forwards,’ John confirmed on New Year’s Eve. ‘The mother is the only child of a long-absent single mother, and the father’s brothers have both been charged with the same crime. It’s one big unholy mess, but, in one sense, this is better. Because it will be altogether less messy just to place Darby out of harm’s way. She’s still young enough …’ He didn’t finish. We both knew what he meant. That there was still a fighting chance that she could be, as it were, rewired. Have that part of her life, and the resultant impulses, whittled away to a few fragments of memory. How much did any of us remember of our lives before we were six, after all?
‘And in answer to your next question,’ John said, ‘both Darby’s parents have agreed to the adoption unreservedly. Not that we needed it, given everything.’
‘I should hope so,’ I said, though actually I would have preferred the word ‘reluctantly’. But now I was living in la-la land. Though I couldn’t say it professionally, nor would, privately was a different matter and, as far as I was concerned, Darby’s parents were animals themselves.
I felt the weight of guilt lift as I ended the call. I could see Darby running around the garden, chasing Tyler and shrieking. Her cheeks were a lovely deep pink, and with the new red coat, tartan scarf and smart black boots we’d bought her in the sales, she looked the picture of happiness and health. Nobody would have guessed that underneath that rosy glow and joyful laughter there lay such a deeply skewed and abused soul.
Because I wasn’t naïve, any more than was John or Mike. There would be years of counselling ahead for Darby; because of what her parents had subjected her to, and the emotional distress she had suffered, she’d probably continue to suffer, one way or another, for years to come – both because of the abandonment and the inevitable consequence of getting older and understanding more.
As John had concluded when he’d called just that morning, she would doubtless get worse before she got better. Which made it doubly good that there were people like the Burtons to take care of her. Without anyone to consider but the child they were adopting, they could ensure they had the best chance of seeing her through, out of the darkness and on to a better life.
I glanced at the clock on my mobile. A process that would be starting now. All being well. This was to be Darby’s first introductory visit with the Burtons and for all that they’d intimated that they already felt committed, I was also aware how much a part instinct played. If things didn’t feel right, all the rationalising in the world wouldn’t help make a placement ‘stick’ – and that held true for both parties.
True, from Darby’s perspective this was all going to be fun. A visit to a farm, where there’d be sheep and cows and chickens. ‘And horses!’ she’d enthused when she returned from her briefing the previous day with Katy Morris. ‘And a sheepdog called Socks. But no dressing-up clothes. I don’t have to work, no more never,’ the words running together as she’d gabbled them out, and Katy’s and my eyes meeting. My sense of relief.
My relief once again, when we’d laid Darby’s clothes out, all ready for the trip out to the country the following day, and she’d grabbed me and kissed me and thanked me for having her. ‘I’ve had the best Christmas ever,’ she’d said. And then, very solemnly, ‘Will you let Santa know where I’m going to be next year? Because the country is a very big place.’
I felt Mike’s hand on my shoulder as I rapped on the conservatory window. ‘Come on you two,’ I called. ‘Time to get off!’
‘It’s the best thing,’ my husband said, reading my mind, the way he always did.
‘I know,’ I said, nodding, but feeling the same pang I always did. That, for all that it was best, that I had nevertheless failed. In the misguided business of trying to be all things for everyone.
But there were Tyler and Darby now, running across the garden towards the back door, and Tyler veering off to squish his nose against the conservatory glass. And I thought of my kids, and my grandkids, and of this cherished adolescent, and I thought there was possibly another way of putting it. That, for Darby, now, thankfully, there was someone.
I never needed to be all things for everyone in the first place.
Epilogue
Children come into and out of our lives all the time and, particularly with those who are only with us briefly, there will always be that sense of unfinished business; of just dipping into and out of a child’s life. Moreover, because such children are with us for so short a time, we often lose track of what happens to them.
We took Darby to meet the Burtons and, happily, the bond was mutual and immediate; indeed I don’t know why I worried in the first place. How anyone could fail to warm to such a sweet child, I do not know. And a week and a half later – John was as good as his word – Katy picked her up and she moved in with the Burtons.
It’s a bitter kind of pill, a child being okay with leaving. Not because we hanker after immortality in a child’s memory – we already knew Darby would keep a place in her heart for us. But because a lack of care in a child also means a lack of attachment, and that’s a serious business when it comes to their emotional health. But, as we reminded ourselves constantly, she was only six and, once taken away from the hell of her early childhood, she could, with the support and love and patience of her adoptive family, re-learn the ‘rules’ of our much nicer world.
And, at the time of writing, it’s a case of so far, so good …
An exclusive sample chapter from Casey’s next heartbreaking full-length true story, Runaway Girl, out 20 October 2016.
Fourteen-year-old Adrianna arrives on Casey’s doorstep with no possessions, no English, and no explanation. It will be a few weeks before Casey starts getting the shocking answers to her questions …
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br /> Chapter 1
January
There is a grandparenting moment – and it’s one of the best ones – when, after a great deal of patience and fortitude, not to mention finger-crossing, you realise that you have finally got the baby off to sleep. And, though you love them (and with an intensity that can take your breath away), you are mighty glad that you can do the proverbial, and give them back to your offspring again.
It was into one such moment that my mobile exploded into life. My mobile that I’d forgotten I still had on me.
‘Bloody hell, Case!’ hissed Mike as I scrabbled to try to silence it. Which was a case of frantically slapping both hands over the offending cardigan pocket to muffle it, and beating a hasty retreat, backwards, from Dee Dee’s bedroom.
And by some miracle, despite the shocking cacophony, she didn’t stir. I missed the call, though, having clattered down the stairs before attempting to answer it, and gone back into the living room. And shut the door, for good measure.
I finally pulled the phone out, long after it had ceased warbling at me, while Mike relocated the baby monitor to the coffee table, glaring at it as if willing it to remain silent. It had been a long, fraught hour getting the baby off, to be fair.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘it’s John. As in Fulshaw. Wonder what he wants.’
Mike flumped down on the sofa beside me. ‘Well, if it’s “Would you mind taking in another ten-month-old baby?”, that’ll be a no.’
‘Oh, hush,’ I said. ‘Go and make some coffee and stop moaning. She’s down now, and she’ll stay down. You know what she’s like.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Mike, with feeling. ‘What is it about flipping babies? I’ve never really got that. When you’re tired you go to sleep. Problem solved. Easy. Why do they have to make it so difficult?’
I grinned at him, already pressing the return-call button on my mobile. As a veteran of two kids, four grandkids, and the various little ones we’d fostered, he knew that was one of the great unanswered questions precisely because there would never be an answer to it. An overtired baby was a simple but complicated beast; she was overtired, but the reasons could be myriad, from colic, to teething, to being too hot, cold or stimulated – it could even be the smell of my new perfume. But we’d got there and could relax now … well, after a fashion. And possibly not for long, given the call.
‘Hi there, John,’ I said moments later. ‘So. To what do we owe the pleasure?’
‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to be calling you so late.’
‘It’s only eight, John. It’s fine,’ I reassured him. Though, while doing so, I was already taking stock of why he’d be calling. It was outside of office hours, so nothing routine or training-related, clearly. Which presumably meant a child he wanted us to take in.
Mike had picked up our coffee mugs but still lingered in the living room, obviously thinking the same thing.
‘We’ve got a teenager on the way,’ John explained, and I mouthed the word to Mike, who nodded. ‘Coming to us via a rather circuitous route. Not from round here – well, to be precise, not from anywhere remotely round here. She’s a Polish girl, apparently – not been long in the country, and all out of options.’
‘What’s happened to her?’ I asked John as Mike headed to the kitchen.
‘We’re not entirely clear yet. She doesn’t speak a lot of English and the details are sketchy. Very sketchy. So, to be truthful, I have no idea what we’re dealing with yet.’
John not having any idea what we’d be dealing with was the case more often than not, so this, in itself, didn’t faze me. Nor did what he did know – that she was 14, and had turned up at a social services building earlier, very distraught, in Hull, some 100 miles away. And, with no room at the inn via the local out-of-hours service, the ‘problem’ had eventually made its way to our fostering agency, and, as John was the supervising social worker and manager of our local office, to us.
‘I’m expecting her within the hour,’ he explained. ‘Are you and Mike able to take her in? More to the point, are you even around? I did try the house phone.’
I explained that we were round at my son Kieron’s house, babysitting his and his partner Lauren’s baby daughter. ‘But that’s no big stress,’ I added. ‘They’ve only gone to the cinema. They’ll be back in less than that, and then we can shoot home.’
‘I’d be enormously grateful,’ John said, and he sounded it. ‘As I say, I’ve no idea what the deal is. The girl’s apparently quite distressed, says she has nowhere to go, and has obviously been sleeping rough for a while. But I’m told she’s otherwise healthy and seemingly sane; says she’s not been harmed in any way.’
‘D’you know any more than that?’ I asked him, already forming a mental picture. Otherwise healthy and seemingly sane. I wondered what it must be like to be a 14-year-old girl all alone in a big, scary city.
‘Not really. Only assumptions. You know what it’s like. She says she has no parents, and nowhere to go back to, but that’s probably questionable. We’ve seen it before, to be honest; parents sending their kids over here when they can’t support them, with little more than a note with their name and age. And the kids are usually savvy enough not to give any details. But we shall see, eh?’
Indeed we would, I said, feeling the usual first stirrings of intrigue. ‘So, what’s her name?’ I asked him.
‘Adrianna. Or so she said. Anyway, thanks for stepping in, Casey. Doubt you’ll have to have her long.’
I smiled at that as I disconnected. Or so he said.
The previous year had been a rather different one for us. We still had Tyler, of course, who we’d taken on permanently, and who was now a lanky 14-year-old. And he was so much a part of the family now, the ‘foster’ part of ‘foster son’ no longer even passed our lips. But after several intense years of fostering – and some harrowing experiences – we’d stepped temporarily off the hamster wheel as far as new long-term placements were concerned, and, having seen our last long-term foster child into her new forever home the previous March (a little girl with foetal alcohol syndrome called Flip), we’d begun a short fostering break.
Mostly, this was to support our son, Kieron. With him and Lauren’s first baby, Dee Dee, coming along shortly after Flip left us (she who was currently not troubling the baby monitor, thankfully), we’d decided to focus on helping them as much as possible, as we had no way of knowing how well Kieron would cope with the upheaval in his life. Kieron had Asperger’s syndrome, which was a mild form of autism, and though we were confident that, between them, he and Lauren would manage as well as any other fledgling parents, there was always this thought in the back of my mind that a safety net would be no bad thing at all.
So, since Flip had gone, we’d only agreed to accept short-term emergency placements, and had had only three, although each had lasted considerably longer than had originally been planned, which was often the way with short-term or emergency placements. We’d taken in an eight-year-old handful (to say the least) called Connor, then a little lad called Paulie whose mum and stepfather had rejected him, and another eight-year-old, very recently – over Christmas, in fact – who’d been in such terrible circumstances (her parents had groomed her to simulate sex acts on camera for a paedophile website) that, even with our lengthy experience of, and exposure to, the sharp end of life, we were still reeling from the very thought of what she’d been through.
So something like this, we agreed – be it for a short time or a longer one – would actually be a form of light relief.
‘So they won’t deport her?’ Kieron wanted to know once he and Lauren had returned, and we’d explained why we had to leave in such a hurry. (Kieron would have happily shared the entire plot of the film with us otherwise, that being very much one of his favourite things.)
He seemed anxious to be sure about it, too. I shook my head. ‘No. Well, certainly not at this stage. If she’s homeless and a minor, the first thing will be to make sure she’s safe, obvio
usly. Plus she’s an EU citizen, so she has rights here, in any case.’
Kieron unzipped his jacket. I could feel the cold coming off it. It was a bitterly cold evening. ‘I knew it,’ he said.
‘Knew what, mate?’ Mike asked him.
‘I knew they didn’t just deport people like that.’
‘Well, they do in some cases …’ I said. ‘Depends very much on the circumstances. But in this case, of course not. They first need to establish what she might be going back to. We don’t yet know how she got here – even how long she’s been here, come to that. Why, anyway?’ I asked, curious.
‘Oh, it’s just there’s this idiot at football I train with,’ he said. ‘He’s a complete racist.’ He glanced at Lauren. She obviously knew about this character already.
‘Amongst other things …’ she added. ‘All-round nice guy, isn’t he? We hear a lot about Idiot Ben,’ she explained, smiling at me.
Kieron huffed. ‘Because he is an idiot,’ he said, shrugging the jacket off. ‘Anyway, he was telling me they changed the laws so no one can come here any more.’
‘I’m not sure he’s right about that,’ Mike commented, putting his own on. ‘Though there’s a fair few who’d agree with him, if they had.’
‘But why?’ Kieron seemed genuinely to want an explanation. ‘I don’t get it. We all live in Europe. We’re all humans on the planet. And, anyway, no one stops us going to work there.’
‘I’m not sure working there’s the issue,’ Mike said.
‘Yes it is,’ Kieron said. ‘He’s always banging on about how they take all our jobs.’
‘When he’s not banging on about them taking our benefits,’ Lauren added drily.
‘Except do they?’ Kieron asked. ‘And they can’t do both, can they?’