Broken

by Rosie Lewis

  ‘Sounds gorgeous,’ I said, smiling.

  She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining at the thought. ‘I said to Jimmy, if we tart our place up a bit and get it on the market in time for spring, there’s nothing to stop us finding a place and moving in before the summer.’

  ‘Oh, imagine that! The kids would love it.’

  Her dreamy expression vanished. ‘Oh yes, maybe,’ she said, her eyes dropping to her cup. There was a pause while we both sipped our drinks. ‘Course, it wouldn’t be right to move them away from their school and everything,’ she said sweetly, her eyes not quite meeting mine. ‘They’re so happy there.’

  I looked at her. ‘They’re not actually. I don’t think they like it at all.’ She looked away again, took another sip of her coffee. I waited. ‘Are you finding the children a bit of a handful, Tracy?’ I asked after a time. She gave a stiff little shrug and folded her arms. I adopted a sympathetic tone to try and get her to lower her guard. ‘It takes a bit of adjusting to, I should think, especially if you’re not used to children.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said, in immediate agreement. ‘I mean, my sister’s got a couple of kids and I absolutely love them, but they’re family, aren’t they?’ She must have noticed a change in my expression because she faltered then. ‘I – I mean, Archie and Bobbi are as well, Jimmy’s family, that is. That’s why I thought it best to let them down gently, you know, give them a dry run by missing a contact every now and again, so they don’t get too used to seeing him. It’ll be too far for them to visit much once we move.’

  It wasn’t up to me to challenge her, but it was so transparently obvious that she didn’t want to build a family with the children, or even support Jimmy in maintaining a distant relationship with them. I couldn’t sit silently while she pretended that she was doing everyone a favour. ‘But I thought the plan was for them to come and live with you and Jimmy full-time? That’s why you’re being assessed, isn’t it?’ I worked hard to keep my tone mild so that she wouldn’t sense my irritation.

  ‘Well, yeah, it’s been suggested, but Jimmy has enough on his plate, to be honest with you, and I can’t be around when he’s not, like the social are expecting. I’m too young to get tied down with two kids that are nothing to do with me, and all because his slag of an ex-wife can’t get her shit together.’

  I stared at her in disbelief. ‘Does Jimmy know this is how you feel?’

  She sniffed. ‘He’ll come around to seeing things my way. All it is is he feels bad saying no to having them when he knows they’ll be stuck in care.’ She examined her nails and then tapped them on the breakfast bar. ‘But it’s only guilt, isn’t it? And you can’t live your life like that.’

  There was a pause, and then I said: ‘I think it’s best to be open about the way you feel. It’ll be unsettling for the children otherwise.’

  She rubbed a hand up and down her tanned arm. ‘Hmm, but kids are resilient, aren’t they? And I’m not sure Jimmy’s quite ready to hear it yet, if you know what I mean. S’easy to get men to come round to our way of thinking though, isn’t it?’ she said with a wink. ‘All we have to do is withhold certain privileges, then let them collect their winnings when they do things our way.’ She performed a little shimmy that made her breasts jiggle, then huffed a laugh.

  I stared at her. ‘You do realise that I’ll need to let the children’s social worker know what you’ve just said.’

  Her smile faded as she met my gaze. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m obliged to report anything that’s likely to have an effect on the children. It’s not something I can keep to myself.’

  She coughed, her intermittent cold making a sudden reappearance, then gave a little shrug. I slipped off the stool and pulled on my yellow rubber gloves. I felt so irritated that it took all my resolve not to slam the cups and plates down on the draining board as I stood at the sink washing up.

  From the living area came jumbled sounds of excitement, the voices of the children and Jimmy’s all mingling joyously together.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I switched the computer on and signed into my email account later that evening, as soon as the children had gone to bed. I typed Danny’s details into the address bar and then stared at the screen, my fingers curled motionless over the keyboard. It was important for me to stick to the facts and record any information I held accurately, but somehow it felt disloyal to report details of the conversation I’d shared with Tracy earlier that afternoon, one that, until I’d informed her otherwise, she had likely assumed to be private.

  Come on, Rosie, get a grip, I told myself. It was never easy to report negative observations against birth parents or their wider family, but it was something that foster carers were sometimes required to do. Foster carers’ diaries are occasionally summoned by the family court and used as evidence, most often in respect of mother and baby placements, where information on how a mother is coping with the day-to-day care of her infant is crucial in aiding social workers’ decisions about their future.

  I reminded myself that my priority was the children. I pushed away what I told myself was misguided loyalty towards someone who actually didn’t seem to care all that much and tapped away at the keyboard. I took care to emphasise the positive relationship between Jimmy and the children, as well as summarising my conversation with Tracy.

  Emily and Jamie, out with friends, weren’t due back until after midnight, so after sending the email I switched the television on with the intention of watching a couple of back-to-back episodes of House of Cards. I found it difficult to concentrate though. I couldn’t stop wondering how Jimmy really felt about living with Archie and Bobbi full-time. Lots of birth parents claimed to adore their children, in fact most screamed their undying love from the rooftops. It often turned out that their words were empty, the instinct to put the needs of their children above their own sadly lacking.

  As social services’ investigation progressed, both Tanya and Jimmy would be asked to nominate any friends or family members who would like to be assessed as long-term carers for the children, in the event that the judgment of the court went against them. As far as I knew, though, there were no grandparents, or at least none that were involved in the children’s lives, and no aunts or uncles either.

  My mind wandered, so much so that I gave up on the TV show and went up to have a shower instead. I stood under the hot spray and thought about the limited possibilities the social workers had to consider. If the children were unable to return to their own family, long-term foster carers would be sought. Long-term foster carers are expected to commit to caring for any children placed with them until they reach adulthood, but disruptions are commonplace. My chest ached at the thought of the children being moved around the system, or perhaps even being separated.

  What little chance some children stood of having a settled life, I thought as I wrapped my dressing gown around me. I went downstairs and made some cocoa, a feeling of melancholy settling over me.

  I woke early the next morning, Wednesday 25 February, excited to reveal to the children my plans for the day. When they got up I asked them to sit on the sofa, and then I presented them each with a ticket I’d printed online. ‘Huh? What is it?’ Bobbi asked, staring blankly at the thin piece of paper. Megan, clueless as to what is was, looked thrilled with it anyway and gave it a kiss. Archie looked up at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Is this real, Rosie?’

  I nodded, unable to take my eyes from his face. His chest was heaving rapidly up and down. He looked close to tears. ‘I don’t believe it!’ He leapt from the sofa, threw his arms around me and jumped us both up and down. I hugged him back, laughing.

  ‘What is it?’ Bobbi asked. She was clutching Megan’s hand.

  Archie spun around. ‘We’re going to see Harry Potter!’ he said breathlessly. ‘We’re actually going to see HARRY POTTER!’ I had booked tickets for the Warner Bros. Studio Tour after Archie had shown such an interest in the books. The girls screeched with excitement and hugged
him, though I wasn’t sure they had any idea what was in store. Still, my heart swelled to see them all so happy.

  ‘Make sure you bring your pocket money, Arch. There’s a gift shop there and something’s bound to catch your eye.’

  He stiffened. ‘Okay.’ His reaction puzzled me, but there was so much to do before we left that I didn’t ask him any more about it.

  Since Emily and Jamie had been keen to come along as well, my brother Chris lent me his seven-seater for the day. We dropped Mungo at my mum’s and then set off. Already in upbeat moods after spending the day with their father, spirits were high as we made the journey down to London, the children only starting to bicker when we were about twenty miles away from the studio.

  The weather had turned again. It was dry but cold and we wrapped ourselves up when we arrived in the car park. Emily held the girls’ gloved hands and walked towards the shuttle bus stop. Archie chattered animatedly to Jamie, who actually seemed enthused by the idea of the visit himself.

  The soundtrack from the Harry Potter films was playing as we entered the foyer. Enthralled, Archie was trembling visibly as we waited for our allocated time slot. He chewed his nails as we joined the queue to go into the studios, his fingers white where he was gripping his ticket so tightly. I took a photo of him standing beside the iconic ‘bed under the stairs’ set, realising as I did so that his attraction to the story was perhaps so strong, not only because its central theme is one of loss and grief, but also because he identified so easily with the main character; a boy who had lots of different places to stay, but nowhere he could truly call home.

  When we walked through the ornate oak doors leading to the Great Hall, Archie paled, so much so that I thought he might faint. We made our way around the hall slowly, the girls staring around at the twinkling lights, chandeliers and ghostly portraits with almost as much awe as Archie. The children posed for photos on Privet Drive, ‘flew’ on a broomstick in front of a green screen and then we went to one of the cafes and drank butterbeer from tankards. It was lovely to spend some time together that wasn’t dictated by school runs and homework and for the first time since the children had arrived, I felt as if they were really part of the family.

  After the tour we visited the gift shop, where I bought everyone a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Archie stared around the shelves with a look of longing. ‘Seen anything you like, Archie?’

  ‘Not really.’ He shrugged as if he wasn’t really interested, but I knew that was unlikely to be the case. I wondered whether he’d perhaps forgotten to bring his wallet, and was too polite to say so.

  ‘I can lend you some if you don’t have it on you.’

  ‘I do have it,’ he said, with a slight edge to his tone. ‘I just don’t want anything.’

  I puzzled over it. I knew he must have at least fifty pounds saved up from the money I’d given him each week. I couldn’t work out why he was reluctant to spend it.

  Bobbi skipped along towards the bus stop at the end of the tour, more relaxed than I’d ever seen her before. She spun in circles as we waited for the shuttle and threw herself into each of us in turn, but it was in fun rather than fury. I imagined myself at the local Accident & Emergency Department having to explain away all sorts of hideous injuries when she tossed herself close to the brick wall behind us, but somehow she escaped without a scratch. She was like a human rubber ball.

  Archie was noticeably more relaxed as well. When we got home he flopped between the girls on the sofa, stretching out until he was lying behind them. I pottered around on the other side of the room, setting the table and folding clothes, and for the first time ever, he didn’t offer to help.

  When I told them that dinner was ready the girls ran over but Archie just lifted one eye. ‘I don’t want to move,’ he said with a yawn. ‘I really can’t be bothered.’ I couldn’t help but smile. He hauled himself up and sauntered over, flopping onto the dining chair with a loud groan.

  I had noticed that his compliments were less fervent when they came, something that led me to believe that he felt more confidence in my dependability. His trust meant a lot to me. He also seemed happier to let me do the caring so that he could get on with the business of being a child.

  My subconscious still whispered away at me however, telling me there was something I was missing.

  Danny replied to my email late the next evening, on Thursday 26 February:

  Hi Rosie

  I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. Having visited Jimmy and Tracy a few days ago I came to more or less the same conclusion myself.

  I called Jimmy yesterday after reading your email, and he admitted that Tracy is making life difficult. She hasn’t told him outright that she’s against the plan, but she’s evasive whenever he mentions the kids and he even suspects that she hid his car keys to avoid spending a day with them!

  He assures me that he’ll bring her round to the idea, but I’m not sure that living with a reluctant step-parent is the ideal situation for the kids, especially in light of the environment they’ve just been removed from. Anyway, on top of all that, I heard from Tanya this afternoon, who’s made some very serious allegations against Jimmy.

  It could be that this is in response to the news that her contact has been reduced, but the allegations will have to be investigated. They’ll be no contact between Jimmy and the kids until it’s been resolved. I’ve explained the situation to him, and I’d be grateful if you could break the news to the kids; I’m up to my neck in it here.

  We’re back in court at the end of March, but I think it’s safe to say that things aren’t looking at all hopeful for a return to either Tanya or Jimmy. I’ll tell you more when we next meet.

  Regards, Danny

  I went to bed with a heavy heart that night, dreading the thought of breaking the news to the children in the morning.

  Archie was the first to wake. When he came downstairs he was already dressed, his rucksack packed and in place on his back. I was standing in the hall as he came down the stairs, a beaming smile on his face. ‘Have you texted Dad yet, Rosie? I think he’s coming early but I don’t know for definite.’

  ‘I haven’t, no,’ I said, my chest tightening. His smile faded. ‘I’m afraid Dad can’t see you today, Arch. He’s got to meet with Danny first and discuss a few things.’ I decided not to break the news about reduced contact with his mum. There was no urgency in telling him, and one bit of bad news was enough for him to absorb for now.

  He dropped his rucksack and stared at me. His cheeks coloured, the flush deepening and spreading down his chin and across his neck. ‘Okay,’ was all he said, though his features had hardened, his eyes blazing with quiet, unsettling fury. ‘S’cuse please,’ he said tightly, moving slowly past me.

  Bobbi’s forehead puckered when I told her the news about twenty minutes later. Sitting on the sofa, she held her breath and looked at her brother, as if checking to see what sort of reaction might be appropriate. ‘It’s alright, Bobs, it doesn’t matter,’ he said calmly, the shutters back in place over his eyes. ‘Can we still go somewhere good though, Rosie, please?’

  Bobbi fixed her gaze on me, still looking as if she might cry. I chucked her under the chin with my forefinger. ‘Of course we can. We’ll have a lovely time.’ The tension left her face immediately. When Megan got up she ran to her and the pair of them sat in front of the dolls’ house, playing and giggling together.

  ‘Are we still playing Rummy later?’ Archie asked in a strained voice as we watched them. Our card games seemed to have become his lifeline, an anchor for him to cling to through all the turbulence of each day.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ I said, patting his shoulder.

  We sat down together just after eight o’clock that evening. I could feel him watching me as I shuffled the cards. I guessed there was something on his mind. ‘Rosie, when we’ve finished our game can I call Dad and tell him about the Harry Potter trip?’

  I hesitated, rehearsing the
words in my mind before saying them. ‘I’m afraid you can’t at the moment, Arch.’ A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, but a moment later it was gone. I dealt the hand and fanned my own cards out. He studied me carefully.

  ‘When am I seeing Mum next? We haven’t seen her for ages. They must have sorted things out at the contact centre by now.’

  I sighed, lowering my cards to my lap. I dearly wanted to protect him from any more upset, but he had to find out sooner or later. It seemed wrong to withhold information from him when he’d directly asked about something. I took a breath. ‘I think you’ll be seeing her next month sometime.’

  He frowned. ‘But that’s ages away. I’m supposed to see her before then.’

  I licked my lips. ‘Danny says that you’ll be seeing her once a month from now on.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The judge has made the decision.’

  ‘But that’s not fair! Why?’

  It was so difficult to find words gentle enough to explain to him that his mother was slowly withdrawing from his life of her own accord. How could I possibly frame the brutal reality in a way that wouldn’t cause him lasting psychological damage? My stomach pulsed with sympathy. ‘Erm, well, I think the judge feels that once a month is enough for now, love. All any of us want is to keep you safe.’

  ‘But what about Mum?’ he said, his face creased with concern. ‘I need to make sure she’s safe too.’ All along I had sensed that his feelings for his mother were muddled and complex. Whenever contact was due he had withdrawn into himself, but despite the personal cost he wanted to see her nevertheless, mostly, it seemed, because he felt duty-bound to make sure she was okay. It was heartbreaking. ‘Archie, love, I’m sure your mum is fine.’

  He gave a stiff nod and lowered his gaze, staring silently at his cards.