Family Portrait (Kingsley Family Trilogy Book 1)

by Rebecca Paulinyi

  “Don’t talk about him like that,” was his answer – and that made the rage flare up again. How could he defend him, after everything that had happened? How could he have been so blind, so oblivious? That was it – the urge took hold of her, and she slammed the phone down, not caring whether she damaged the handset or not. She tried to inhale deeply, to keep the tears at bay, but it was impossible: rage, hurt, frustration, they all fought inside her, pushing the tears to the brink. She hadn’t thought about how much noise her shouting and phone slamming would have made, and so was surprised to see Zach stood at the doorway, looking confused and concerned. The tears rolled, hot, fast and unstoppable, down her cheeks.

  “Please go away…” she begged softly, “I don’t want you to see me like this. This isn’t me…I don’t do this.” She gestured to the tears, but Zach ignored her begging, and made his way towards the bed where she was still sat. Imogen turned and buried her head in his pillow, hating anyone to see her in this weak state, and not knowing what to do next about her brother. He wasn’t the type to give up easily – he wanted answers, and she didn’t know what he would stop at to get them.

  Everything had seemed to be working out, finally. She knew it was a childish expression, but her head was screaming it to her: It’s not fair!

  Climbing gently to the centre of the bed where she was curled, Zach found her hand, and held it silently. He pulled on it gently, trying to get her head to turn, but was unsuccessful, and so he leant back against the pillows where her head was buried, placing one warm, strong arm around her protectively, and waited until she was ready to tell him what was wrong…

  Chapter Twelve

  She did explain it all to him, a few hours later, when she felt calm enough to discuss it without crying, and proceeded to explain with a cool detachment. He understood better than she ever could have hoped – he didn’t even push the subject about having the full tale of her life-story.

  “Everything okay?” a soft voice asked at the door, and Imogen turned to see Eve stood there, glancing anxiously at her brother and his girlfriend sat in the middle of the bed. She didn’t even tell her to get her hands off him, as was her custom. She could see Imogen’s tearstained cheeks, puffy eyelids, and could feel the tension in the room.

  Imogen merely nodded – although her emotions were more controlled, she didn’t quite trust herself to speak for a moment – and Zach answered for her.

  “Yeah, nothing to worry about.” Eve still looked a little worried, as well as confused and, understandably, curious. Imogen felt she had to say something; she’d made friends, and it wouldn’t do to alienate them as soon as some little aspect of her past flickered into her present life.

  “Yeah,” she echoed Zach, “sorry I’ve not exactly been great company today. But it’s sorted, now.” She at least thought she’d reassured Evangeline a little, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to sate the curiosity – she wasn’t ready for anyone new to know that story yet.

  Rustling up a weak grin, she realised how she’d overreacted. She’d let her guard down – something she never did; she’d let Jack get to her so easily, reverted to a weak child the second she’d heard his name; and she’d ruined any image, reputation, identity that she’d built up. All this – the tears, the weakness, the insecurity – was not Imogen. She had built herself up to be so much more, the complete opposite of all that, and she’d let Jack bring her back down to her knees. She’d started out so well – she showed the side she wanted people to see, got on with the people she wanted to. She’d thought this side of her was dead and buried…and she wasn’t going to let its fleeting reappearance ruin what she had with Zach, or Eve, or Carrie or Violet.

  She would forget about Jack, and get on with everything that was going on at that moment.

  There was no need to dwell on the past.

  ***

  The week went by without a mention of Jack, and the holiday spirit caught up with Imogen – she managed to forget all about it, at least for now. She got into a routine that week that she wished could go on for a lot longer: lie-ins; lazy mornings; spending her afternoon with her friends and Zach; the late afternoons at home with her little sister and, once Abby was in bed, off to parties, the cinema, Zach’s…anywhere to get her out of the house. The little group didn’t do the same thing twice during that week of evenings, and it was the best week Imogen had ever spent.

  During one of the quieter evenings, Imogen, Zach, Eve, Daryl, Carrie, James, Danny, Violet, and Danny’s girlfriend Lottie had convened at the Monroe’s place – it was the biggest, and free from parental rules – and spent a night-in in hysterical laughter. They’d all stayed round there until around two in the morning, the others reminiscing over the past and Imogen laughing at what they’d got up to. When it had got too late to stay up, Imogen had made her way back into the Kingsleys’ house through her preferred entrance and exit – her bedroom window. Most nights Ella didn’t even know she went out. After all, it was so much easier that way: no explaining. Not only did she avoid explanations, she also had to deal with the fact that after finding Zach asleep on the sofa – no matter how innocently – Imogen technically had a strict ten o’clock curfew. It was better than being grounded – after all, that would have made her days hell too – but it was still annoying. It was a good job she had the window.

  The last day differed from her week’s routine because of the most mundane requirement: homework. She woke up that Sunday morning with a sense of annoyance; she didn’t want to have to get on with schoolwork, but knew she would have to, to avoid serious trouble. Detentions were such a waste of time.

  So, grudgingly, she got up on the last day of the holiday at ten, and sat around in her tracksuit bottoms and comfortable hoody, tackling French questions, English essays and maths problems. Trying to stay focused, she blocked out the sound of Abby and Dana playing in the garden with her MP3 player headphones, turning the music up nice and loud so she could concentrate on getting the work done, and hopefully having a homework-free evening. She didn’t hear the door-bell down-stairs, nor Ella’s slightly too-polite, borderline anxious responses. All was quiet in her room, other than the tinny sound of music playing from her headphones. Downstairs, however, was a different matter.

  “Did you not get my message, Miss Kingsley?” an unknown female voice asked, a little confused.

  “Message?”

  “Yes, I left one with a Mr-” she consulted her notes for a moment, before glancing up once more. “Kingsley. Your husband?” Again, further confusion: there was nothing on her records to say that Imogen and Abigail had been adopted by a married couple.

  “No, that must have been my brother. And I’m assuming he must have forgotten to tell me. Sorry, please come in, I was just a little surprised at your arrival Mrs-”

  “Emilia. But please, call me Asha.” She smiled an apologetic smile, as she stepped across the threshold into the Kingsley’s hallway. “Yes, so as I was saying Miss Kingsley,”

  “Please, call me Ella.”

  “Ella. I’m merely here to check on how the girls are settling in, make sure everything’s going according to plan, ask a few questions. I realise now that you weren’t expecting me – are you able to spare me a half hour or so, or are you busy?”

  “No, it’s fine – I wouldn’t want to make you come back again, anyway. Please come through; can I get you anything to drink?” Ella hoped that Imogen would not make this difficult; she didn’t think she would, as she was pretty sure she didn’t want to go back to the care home, but then she could never tell with Imogen.

  “No, I’m fine thank-you. Are the girls both in?” she asked, glancing around to see if there were any signs of them. “It is the school holidays, is it not?”

  “Yes – the last day, though. Imogen’s in her room, I believe – homework.” She smiled a little, still nervous; she really wanted everything to go smoothly. “And Abby’s in the living room….just this way.”

  The blond haired little girl was sat wi
th Dana, as was almost always the case, and today they were playing with a set of toy bricks, getting Sara’s help whenever they could.

  “Sara, you couldn’t just ask Imogen to come downstairs for a moment, could you? Let her know that Mrs Emilia, from Mulberry Bush, is here.” She wouldn’t want her to come down unprepared – who knew what she might come out with.

  Sara sighed a little, but did as she was asked; her aunt’s stress was clear to someone who knew her so well. “Take a seat.” Ella relaxed just a little as she saw how evidently happy Abby was; that was a good sign. Now she just had to see whether Imogen would seem the same.

  One glance at Abigail satisfied Asha that she was happy; the little girl was grinning, her eyes bright, her posture relaxed. And then there were the signs of her wellbeing; glowing skin, clean clothes, neat hair – there was nothing to suggest that she was anything but happy. She wondered whether Imogen would be the same. She had no doubts that she would have been well looked after: Miss Kingsley seemed like an extremely capable mother. However, Asha had read Imogen’s file, and it seemed her previous carers had all had some difficulties in caring for her. Asha hadn’t worked at Mulberry Bush long, and hadn’t been the social worker to follow the adoption process through.

  “I believe you’ve met my colleague, Logan?” Asha asked conversationally, as they waited for Imogen.

  “Yes…he was so helpful, and made adopting the girls as easy as he could. He did mention he was looking to move abroad though. Did he end up in New York?”

  “Changed his mind – Manhattan, the last I heard.” Logan had followed through all the adoption procedures with Ella for a year or so, since she had decided she wanted to adopt, and so she had begun to know him quite well. She was extremely grateful to the man who had helped her increase her family; she wished for a moment it was him here now, for she felt a friendly face would have made her a lot less nervous. However, Asha didn’t seem too intimidating – perhaps it would all go smoothly.

  “Ah, Imogen.” Ella smiled at her daughter, who responded with a slightly forced smile. But it was a smile – and that calmed Ella a little. Imogen wanted to stay there, she was pretty sure; she thought they were getting on all right, and if Imogen was determined, she was sure she could convince the social worker of that.

  “Imogen. Lovely to finally meet you.” Asha stood up, and shook the teen’s hand. “I’m Asha Emilia – I’m the new social worker assigned to you and your sister.” She flashed a smile that reached right up to her blue eyes, which seemed to be perfectly framed by her blond bob. She was a petite woman, and seemed to have very doll-like qualities.

  “I didn’t realise we were having a visit today?” Imogen voiced the statement like a question, directing it to Ella, whilst politely shaking Asha’s hand.

  “No, there seems to have been a little confusion. Still, Ella has been kind enough to allow me some time now to do what I need to, so no harm done.”

  Abby stood up from where she had been playing, and climbed into Imogen’s lap quietly, as Imogen took a seat on the sofa next to Ella.

  ‘Best to display some sort of solidarity’, she’d thought; when Sara had informed her the social worker was downstairs, she’d had to make a snap decision: whether she wanted to stay, or not. And that decision was really already made for her – with Abby’s happiness clear, and her own happiness finally becoming stable here: who she was living with didn’t matter, she wanted to stay here. And so she would pretend she loved the Kingsleys for this woman, so that there would be no interference.

  “No, no harm.” Imogen kept her tone polite and pleasant, wrapping one arm around the young child on her knee.

  “So, how do you feel things have been going, Imogen?” asked Asha, as Sara left the room with Dana, probably in an attempt to give them some privacy. “Any problems you feel need airing?”

  “Fine, really. Ella’s made us feel at home…school’s going well. As you can see, Abby has settled in particularly well; she and Dana are hardly separated!” Every word she spoke was true: she didn’t exactly love living here, with the Kingsleys, but it was bearable – and, if you listed the positives, as she was now…well, it really didn’t seem so bad.

  “Really? Well, that’s fabulous.” Asha beamed; she’d worried that there would be problems, that Imogen would be difficult – she didn’t want to have to hunt down another home for her – and so was glad her worries seemed to be unfounded.

  “And Ella, anything you feel you need to voice?”

  “No, no, everything’s going really well. Both Imogen and Abby are settling in well with all the family; school seems to be going well, Imogen’s making friends quickly, and Abby’s adjusting to being looked after by other people while Imogen’s at school. All in all, a definite success, I would say.” The hostility she felt Imogen bore towards her was overlooked: she wanted this to work, and she would do anything to make it do so. And she wasn’t lying: like Imogen, none of her words were false. On paper, everything was going perfectly. And she would do her best to make it like that in real life, too.

  Asha’s smile was even brighter now; she’d been expecting difficulties, and yet was presented with none.

  “I like it here too!” Abby stated, not allowing everyone else to speak without her own little contribution.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. I’ll only ask a few quick questions, and then I’ll get out of your way, Miss Kingsley – the more in depth questions can be arranged for a more convenient time. So, back to school: no problems with getting a place?”

  “None: we were very fortunate there was an opening for Imogen, and we’ve been promised a place in the reception class when Abigail is old enough to start.” She smiled; all preparations that she expected Asha to enquire into were already in place.

  “And how about medical requirements?”

  “They’re both registered with my GP; Imogen is due to have a booster tetanus shot next month.” Asha smiled: she liked organisation. It made her job a lot easier.

  ***

  Around forty minutes after she’d arrived unexpectedly, Asha left the Kingsleys’ Mansion confident that the Meyer siblings were settling in, and with the promise that she would be returning – expectedly – within the next few weeks. She liked Ella Kingsley; she seemed down to earth, caring, and tough enough to deal with Imogen Meyer, something that her file suggested was not an easy feat.

  As the door closed behind her, Ella glanced toward Imogen with a grateful, relieved smile.

  “That went well,” she said brightly, with Imogen and Abigail stood at her side. She had been a little unsure about whether she could make it work, adopting an older child, adopting siblings, but the meeting had proved to her that it was possible. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy to make it work out for them all, but she felt hopeful that it could.

  Imogen nodded. Staying at the Kingsleys’ wasn’t all that pleasant, but it was the key to staying with the people she wanted to, and to a settled life for Abby. It was also far more preferable than going back to Mulberry Bush; even with the amount of kids running around in the house, it had nothing on the noise there.

  The tense atmosphere that had rested over the Kingsley household throughout the unexpected visit now lifted; everyone could return to their normal behaviour.

  Sara made her way back to the living room, looking only mildly interested in the events that had just occurred, a huge textbook covering her lap. Abby and Dana continued with the blocks, and Ella went back to the baking she had started before Asha had turned up. She’d decided to bake an apple pie in a sudden fit of cooking enthusiasm, and had only managed to make the pastry before the interruption.

  Imogen was the only one not to return to her previous activities; she’d wanted an excuse to get out of homework, and couldn’t be bothered to return to it, now that she’d had a break. Motivation was a problem, especially when it came to French grammar. Who really cared about the pluperfect tense? Instead, she followed Ella into the kitchen, in the hope that some fo
od would help her concentration to return.

  “Did you get much revision done this week?” Ella enquired, as she nosily peeled, cored and chopped apples. Imogen rolled her eyes to herself: they were mocks – did she really need to revise for them?

  “Uh, a little.” That was a complete and utter fabrication: she hadn’t so much as considered revision throughout the half-term. The mock exams weren’t for another couple of weeks yet, but she guessed that Sara had been revising for them well in advance.

  “Maybe you and Sara could revise together? It’s good to be prepared for these things,” Ella said.

  “They’re only practice though – as long as I revise for the real GCSE exams in June, I’m not too worried.” Imogen shrugged off the question as she helped herself to a packet of crisps from the cupboard.

  “Hmmm…” Ella frowned slightly at her attitude, and Imogen smirked: once more she had shown how completely different she was from the Kingsleys. She may have been Kingsley by name, but she certainly wasn’t by nature.