Broken

by Rosie Lewis

‘We’ll go back in after lunch, Meggie, okay?’ Next to me, Bobbi was spinning manically; human hoopla without the hoop.

  Megan gave a reluctant nod. Bobbi pushed her out of the way and stamped her feet in front of me. ‘I want food!’ she screamed, preparing to roar off into orbit. Megan burst into tears. Behind us, Naomi was emerging, the boys kicking at her shins and turning the air blue.

  ‘Bobbi, you mustn’t push Megan. Now, we’ll go and get some lunch, but only when you’ve calmed down.’

  ‘I am calm!’ Bobbi hollered, spraying my cheeks with saliva.

  I brushed my sleeve over my face and blinked. ‘Good. That’s good,’ I said softly, trying to soothe her. A grey-haired gentleman gave us a wide berth as he exited the house after Naomi, eager not to be tarnished by association. Two well-dressed women strolled by, their faces agog. They turned their heads as they passed, indiscreetly keeping us in sight. When they reached a bench they sat down at an angle that allowed them an unimpeded view.

  It was easy to guess what they were thinking – fancy kowtowing to a child like that, what a slummy mummy, no wonder the girl’s out of control. If Jenny, one of my fostering friends had been with us, she probably would have engaged the women in conversation and told them that the children were new to the family and still undergoing training. Most people soften instantly when they find out that children are fostered, but it’s something I rarely reveal unless it comes up in conversation, clinging as I do to the belief that it is wrong for anyone to judge. Sometimes I even felt tempted to offer horrified bystanders a hook to hang their condemnation on by slumping onto a nearby bench and cracking open a can of Strongbow.

  I remembered the looks I used to get when I took nine-year-old Phoebe out. She was an easily revolted girl with a sharp tongue and if ever anyone showed an interest in her, she either insulted them with colourful profanities or heaved her lunch all over their feet.

  Bobbi sucked in a lungful of air and released it in little breaths, doing her best to bring her temper under control. ‘Good work, Bobbi,’ I said, aware of the exchange of glances from the two women across the way. ‘You’re doing really well.’

  ‘I’m going to lose it in a minute, I swear,’ Naomi said behind me, the boys continuing their assault on her shins.

  The two women continued to stare as we ushered six tired, angry children over the lawns towards the tea shop, no doubt wondering how the china teapots would fare once our motley crew arrived.

  I read The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams to Megan that evening and after the day we’d had, the words took on such a special significance that I emailed a short passage from the book to Naomi when I got downstairs.

  ‘What is Real?’ asked the velveteen rabbit one day.

  ‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said the Horse, ‘[but] when you are Real you don’t mind being hurt … it takes a long time … by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you get loose in all the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all because once you are Real you can’t be ugly …’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jimmy called at nine thirty the next morning, just as I was letting myself back into the house after the nursery and school-run. It was Monday 16 February and we seemed to have turned a corner with the weather. The sun was shining brightly through the patio doors, the house warm even though the thermostat was turned low. ‘How are the kids, Rosie?’ he asked without preamble. ‘I feel really bad letting them down like that.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Jimmy. They were upset, to be honest, but we went to the splash park anyway so at least they got to do that.’

  ‘Ahh, you’re a bloody decent woman, so you are. I’m really grateful.’

  ‘It wasn’t a problem. I think they enjoyed themselves.’

  ‘Good, that’s good.’ A few seconds of silence followed and then Jimmy added: ‘Yeah, I mislaid my phone. I don’t know how it happened cos when I woke up this morning, there it was, on the floor just under the bed. I swear I should’ve seen it, had it been there on Saturday.’ His voice had softened, as if he were thinking aloud. For a second I wondered whether he had considered the possibility that Tracy might have hidden the phone and then engineered its reappearance, but I quickly admonished myself for such an uncharitable thought. I knew that jealousy of a partner’s children was an issue for some people, but it wasn’t fair to jump to conclusions. And, I reminded myself, it was none of my business either.

  I made a non-committal sound and then he said: ‘Can I call them tonight, love? I won’t make it near bedtime just in case it upsets them, like. I just want them to know I’m thinking of them –’

  ‘Of course, it’s not a problem at all.’

  ‘Six o’clock then, just before I set off for work.’

  True to his word, Jimmy called on the dot of six o’clock. I hadn’t told the children to expect his call in case he let them down again, so Archie was taken aback when I held the phone out to him. ‘It’s Dad? What, my dad?’

  I laughed. ‘Yes. Come on, he wants to talk to you.’

  There was a big grin on Archie’s face as he strolled around with the phone aloft, his sister clinging to his leg and stretching out her arms to hurry him along. Bobbi stilled when it was her turn to speak, twisting shyly from side to side.

  ‘I’m going to call Danny and see if I can spend some time with them in half-term, if that’s okay with you, Rosie?’ Jimmy said, once he’d wished the children goodnight. ‘I don’t want to go stepping on your toes if you’ve something planned but I want to see as much of them as I can.’

  I suddenly felt a little more optimistic about the children’s future. Jimmy sounded sincere about his plans; a good sign if they were ever to return to his care. ‘We’ll work around you,’ I told him, my thoughts flashing to Tracy’s sudden illness on Saturday and the mystery of his vanishing phone.

  Jimmy would have to demonstrate his reliability and total commitment if he wanted social services to give serious consideration to his application as a full-time parent. Given that he had to work, he would also presumably have to prove that Tracy was in full support of the idea, so that there was someone to take care of the children while he wasn’t around. I couldn’t help wondering whether Tracy was quite as sold on the idea of becoming a ready-made family of four as Jimmy seemed to be.

  The week passed quickly and before we knew it half-term was upon us. After checking with Danny, I agreed a few times during the week for Jimmy to take the children out. The first date we’d arranged was Tuesday 24 February. Jimmy was to pick the children up at ten o’clock and take them back to his house for the day. I wondered how Tracy felt about the arrangement. Worried that she might somehow talk Jimmy into cancelling again, by Monday I found myself tensing every time my mobile pinged. Archie and Bobbi had been thrilled at the prospect of spending so much time with their father and I dreaded having to witness disappointment on their faces all over again.

  Bobbi was the first to wake on Tuesday morning. She came downstairs with a fluffy pink bag I’d bought her already packed, her glasses a little skew-whiff on her face. She sat on my lap on the sofa and took out each item one by one. ‘This is my glasses case,’ she said, holding it up reverentially, ‘because I might play with Daddy in Tracy’s garden and I don’t want them to get squished. And this is my lip cream in case it’s windy.’ There was a look of such excitement on her face that I found myself praying that Jimmy would turn up.

  When the doorbell rang at just after half past nine, Archie and Bobbi dashed into the hall with their bags clutched to their chests. Their faces fell at the sight of Gary, my ex-husband, who had popped over to take Emily and Jamie out for a cooked breakfast. Bobbi quickly recovered from her disappointment. She ran over
to Gary and wrapped her arms around his leg. ‘Bobbi, this is Gary, but you don’t know him,’ I said gently, repeating the mantra I’d grown used to over the weeks. Gary and I exchanged looks as I pulled her away. ‘We only hug people we know very well, sweetie.’

  ‘You must be Bobbi,’ Gary said, crouching down to say hello. ‘I like your glasses, they’re cool.’ Bobbi grinned and turned her head from side to side to show them off.

  ‘That’s Archie,’ Bobbi said with a shy half-turn towards her brother.

  ‘Hello, Gary,’ Archie said politely.

  ‘Hi, Archie. You’re a Mancunian, I hear.’ Gary and I had separated years earlier after he’d had an affair, but he had remained very involved in Emily and Jamie’s lives. In recent years we had managed to salvage a friendship of sorts and, to his credit, he had welcomed Megan with open arms when she joined our family. He never left her out if ever he brought gifts for Emily and Jamie, and she often tagged along if they went somewhere child-friendly.

  Megan interrupted the football banter that followed when she skidded into the hall and leapt onto Gary for a hug. ‘Can I come to breakfast?’

  Gary looked at me. ‘That okay?’ I nodded and smiled. ‘Well, then, yes, you can, little one. As a matter of fact I was hoping you would. I need someone to keep Emily and Jamie in line now, don’t I?’

  Megan beamed and ran off to round up her brother and sister. Archie and Bobbi sat side by side on the sofa after Gary and the children left, forlorn expressions on their faces. I kept them occupied with a game of I-spy but when ten o’clock came and went their interest waned and melancholy took over.

  When I called Jimmy’s mobile number and got an unobtainable tone, my heart sank. I was about to suggest that we all go outside and bounce on the trampoline, when the doorbell rang again. Much to my relief, it was Jimmy I saw when I opened the door, Tracy standing on the path behind him. ‘Dad!’ Archie shouted, charging into the hall. I stepped aside and he threw himself at his father. I was so pleased to see him that I could have hugged him myself. Bobbi trotted into the hall after us. Overwhelmed with the anxiety of waiting, she burst into tears.

  ‘Ahh, come here, darlin’,’ Jimmy said, squatting down and giving her a hug. He looked up at me. ‘Sorry, Rosie. I mislaid my car keys.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all I could summon. I found myself beginning to doubt anything Jimmy said. My gaze strayed to Tracy, who was standing with her arms folded. She gave me a tight smile and then looked down at her feet.

  It was raining by the time the children got their coats and shoes on. They ran outside to join their father and giggled as he took their hands and ran across the drive. Tracy followed them, frowning up at the sky.

  While the house was empty I took the opportunity to write to Megan’s birth mother. Christina had been granted letterbox contact twice yearly, which meant that, unless I felt that it was damaging in some way, I was obliged to update her on how Megan was doing. I sat at the computer and stared at the blank screen with a familiar feeling of resentment. It wasn’t that I harboured any bad feeling towards Christina; quite the opposite in fact – Megan existed because of her, and we had built a positive relationship during the time I had fostered Megan.

  What irritated me was that I wasn’t allowed to be honest about Megan and the everyday difficulties she battled with as a result of Christina’s drug and alcohol abuse while pregnant. In one of the first contact letters I wrote, I spoke of Megan’s love of the outdoors, her enthusiasm for life and her gift for bringing people together. I also made reference to her abdominal discomfort and her struggles at nursery because of her hearing difficulties and developmental delay. I sent the letter via the local authority offices for forwarding on to Christina and the social worker that checked the contents had a fit of the vapours. ‘You can’t say that!’ she had said over the telephone. When I asked why not she said that birth parents tended to blame the local authority if their children were ill. ‘Besides,’ she said, ‘Christina might find it emotionally upsetting.’

  While I usually went out of my way not to cause upset to anyone, I felt it was negligent to censor the truth in this case – Christina was a young woman who, in all likelihood, would go on to have more children, perhaps many of them. If being honest about the consequences of her actions was to go some way in keeping any future unborn children healthy, I was of the opinion that exposing her to a little guilt was a small price to pay.

  I made myself a cup of tea and shook any lingering resentment away, and once I got started on the letter, the words came easily. Megan was such a joy that it wasn’t difficult to find wonderful things to say about her.

  The rain grew heavier throughout the morning and Megan, Jamie and Emily were drenched when Gary dropped them back home. Megan ‘helped’ me make some jam tarts after lunch, and the doorbell rang just as I was getting them out of the oven. I couldn’t help but express my surprise. ‘Oh, you’re early!’

  Archie and Bobbi trudged into the hall, their faces glum. They cheered a little at the sight of Megan, and Bobbi willingly submitted to a full-throttle hug. ‘Sorry, Rosie,’ Jimmy said, sounding thoroughly fed up himself. ‘Tracy’s got a cold coming so she couldn’t trudge around in the rain.’

  I looked at her. ‘Oh, but I thought you were going back to your house for the day?’ I couldn’t imagine what difference wet weather made if they were tucked up indoors.

  ‘We decided not to spend too much time in the car,’ Jimmy explained a little sheepishly. ‘It’s at least an hour each way. We went to the park instead, but Tracy started to feel a bit shaky.’

  ‘Oh dear. I’ve got a Lemsip in the cupboard if you’d like one?’

  ‘I’ve already taken something,’ she said with a loud sniff. She folded her arms over her fur coat with a theatrical little shiver.

  ‘Rosie?’ Archie tapped me on the arm. ‘Can Dad stay and play on the Wii?’

  ‘We-ell, I’m not sure,’ I said slowly, with an uncertain glance towards Jimmy. Birth parents sometimes felt uncomfortable under what might be perceived to be a critical gaze from their child’s foster carer. Jimmy raised his eyebrows though, looking hopeful.

  Bobbi and Megan jumped up and down on my feet, their hands pressed together in prayer-like poses. ‘Oh please, Rosie, please can he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled. ‘Yes, of course.’ Archie and Bobbi cheered and pulled their father into the living room. Megan skipped after them. ‘Meggie, you come with me, sweetheart.’

  She looked crestfallen.

  ‘She can join in,’ Jimmy said. ‘The more the merrier.’

  I hesitated for only a second before agreeing. Usually I would have kept Megan away from contact sessions, but the children had been removed from Tanya’s care, not Jimmy’s. Besides, Danny had assured me that there were no safety issues and I planned to stay just a few feet away, in the kitchen.

  ‘Jaysus, will you give me a minute,’ Jimmy said as the children pulled on his hands. Tracy closed her eyes and let out a small sigh. When she opened her eyes and saw me looking at her she reset her expression and gave me a stiff smile.

  ‘Shall we leave them to it?’ I said, with a tilt of my head. ‘Come to the kitchen and I’ll make you a nice hot drink.’

  Tracy took a cautious sip of her steaming coffee and lowered it to the breakfast bar, a trace of red lipstick clinging to the rim. She had been telling me about her sister’s recent move to the Welsh coast as I made the drinks, and the plans she and Jimmy were making to visit the site where her brother-in-law was self-building a house.

  I sat on the high stool beside her, a hot cup of tea in my hand, and began to wonder whether I’d misjudged her. With the short skirt she was wearing barely covering her knickers and her cleavage peeping through her low-cut top, she was what my mother might have labelled ‘a bit brassy’, but she was friendly enough. It was a pleasant conversation and with loud bellows of laughter reaching us from the living area, I found I was even enjoying myself. It was almost as if we were two mums catching up aft
er picking the children up from school.

  I could tell that Tracy was relaxing as well. The excessively affected tone she had adopted on arrival to prove she was unwell, one that sounded as if she were auditioning for a voiceover part in a flu remedy ad, had vanished, and she had finally removed her fur coat. It lay discarded like roadkill on the worktop behind us.

  ‘I love the idea of building my own house,’ I told her as she flicked through the travel brochure she’d pulled from her bag. ‘I’ve always fancied a bit of The Good Life, you know?’

  She looked up, her expression blank.

  ‘Oh, you’re too young to remember. It was a comedy about a couple who gave up their jobs and became self-sufficient; grew all their own vegetables, kept pigs and chickens. I used to dream about living like that; a garden full of animals and a house full of kids.’ Tracy shuddered theatrically. I laughed. ‘Horses for courses, I guess.’ She grinned and went back to thumbing through the shiny pages. ‘Going somewhere nice?’ I asked, when she’d reached the last page.

  She leaned back in her chair. ‘Hopefully, if I can convince Jim.’

  ‘Is he not keen on travelling?’

  She pulled a face. ‘His idea of a good time is a week at Butlins with the kids.’

  I laughed. ‘Not really your scene?’

  She shuddered again and shook her head. ‘It’s hard to find the money though, cos we’re saving up to move. We really need a bigger place.’ So, plans were in motion for the children to move in, I thought, feeling more encouraged. ‘My sister showed me the plans for her house; there’ll be a games room, two shower rooms, a master bedroom with an en-suite. It looks perfect.’

  ‘Sounds fabulous.’

  She nodded wistfully. ‘Somewhere similar isn’t completely out of our reach. Jim earns alright and you can get so much more for your money in parts of Wales, can’t you? We’re in a pokey three-bed terrace at the moment, one tiny reception room, no downstairs lav. Out there we could get a detached with three bedrooms, two receptions, two bathrooms and a massive garden. Me and Jim were looking on the Internet last night.’