“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Amy,” Gemma says.
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I heard that Mary got ill …”
I stare at Gemma, feeling heat rise inside my body. “If it’s OK, I’d rather not talk about it,” I say.
Gemma nods. “Of course,” she says gently.
There’s no way I want to tell her about it all. Not yet anyway. Mary Gibson said I couldn’t stay because she was too tired and ill. She said she couldn’t cope with fostering any more but that it wasn’t my fault.
But I know different. I know if I had been a nicer, easier girl, Mary would have kept me. If I hadn’t argued with Stephanie all the time, it would’ve been OK. I’m sure the illness was just Mary’s excuse to get rid of me.
I pause on the stairs. Photos line the wall beside me. There’s a shot of Gemma and Graham on their wedding day. He’s tall and strong looking, standing proudly, with dark blond hair that seems too spiky to touch. He has a broad smile. Gemma is dressed in a long, fitted white dress. Her hair is longer – dark curls bouncing around her neck.
“I was a lot younger there,” Gemma says. She seems shy, a smile twitching at her lips. “It was a very special day.”
My gaze drifts to the next photo. A boy is with them in this one. Small with a tuft of messy, mousey hair. He squints at the camera as if looking directly at the sun.
“That’s Kenny, before he got his glasses,” Gemma explains. “Look, here’s a more recent one.” Gemma reaches across and touches a large framed picture. It’s a school photo. Kenny sits facing the camera, his hair soft and brushed away from his face. His smile is shy and awkward. Dark glasses frame his light blue eyes.
“You’ll like Kenny once you get to know him,” Gemma says. “Everyone does.”
I nod. I don’t really know what else to say. The wall is covered with faces – more people that I do not know. They are all smiling at me with bright eyes. It’s pretty overwhelming.
“Maybe soon I can put your picture up there,” Gemma says.
I flinch. I don’t mean to, but her words are like a whip that hits old wounds.
Mary hung my picture up in her house. She placed it proudly beside Stephanie’s. Two girls in their school uniforms smiling brightly. Two girls who looked so happy.
“There – how perfect is that?” Mary said, stroking the frame. “My two daughters.”
I expect my photo has been taken down now. I wonder if it’s left a faded mark on the wall. Or maybe another picture of Stephanie has been hung in its place, removing me for ever.
“It’s OK,” Gemma says, her hand pressing on the bannister. “No rush, eh? There’s no need to rush anything. Let me show you your room now. The most important part.”
We carry on walking, reaching the landing in silence. Gemma directs me gently to the first room on the right. The door is already open.
“I hope you like it,” she says. “I hope we got it right.”
I hold back a choke in my throat.
It’s beautiful.
She couldn’t have got it more wrong.
It’s too perfect. All of it.
The carpet is soft and grey and sinks around my tatty trainers as I step inside. The bed is huge. I think it might be a double. It is covered in clean white bedding and bright cushions. The walls are plain white but decorated with large bright prints – two are colourful abstract art and one is of a wolf cub.
“We knew you liked art. And wolves,” Gemma says softly. “But you can change anything you like. This was just to start it off.”
There is a large white dressing table in the corner, a wardrobe, a table with a TV and a huge bookcase stuffed full of books.
“They’re mainly Kenny’s books,” Gemma says. “I’m sorry it’s mostly sci‑fi and horror, but we can stock up on others. I know you like to read.”
“To escape …” I mutter.
Gemma doesn’t seem to hear me. “We can go shopping any time. Get you some new things. I thought that might be nice.” She opens the wardrobe. I see there is stuff already hanging there. “I ordered some basic things in your size. Jeans and T‑shirts. Nothing much.”
“I have all I need already,” I tell her.
Gemma nods. “OK, that’s fine, but they’re there if you change your mind.”
My hands are clenched in tight balls. I try to let go. I try to relax as Gemma continues to talk. She points out the bathroom, tells me I can shower or bathe whenever I want. She shows me where my personal towels are, fluffy and white and new.
“Shall I leave you to settle in?” Gemma asks. “Graham will be home soon. We can catch up again then.”
That word again – settle. God, how I hate it. I nod, feeling numb. I watch how Gemma backs out of the room, her smile nervous and unsure. She wants me to be happy. She wants me to like it here.
I’m not sure that can ever be possible.
THREE
BEFORE
Mary Gibson was lovely. She was loud and topsy‑turvy. She sang as she baked in the kitchen. I would sit and watch her at the kitchen table, staring at her busy hands as she rolled out the dough. She reminded me so much of someone else.
“What are you thinking about, love?” Mary asked me. “You seem lost in thought.”
“My nan used to bake too,” I said. “Sometimes I’d help her.”
“Ah.” Mary didn’t say anything more, but she studied me with wide, kind eyes. She knew what had happened of course – with my nan and why I had ended up in foster care.
“You can help me if you like?” Mary offered, holding out the rolling pin. “Get this pastry nice and smooth for me. If I’m honest, I’ve never been much good at it.”
I took the rolling pin keenly and began to press out the dough. The fresh scent of flour dusted my nose. I pictured Nan next to me, telling me to “iron out all the bumps”. I could smell Nan’s fresh lavender scent and hear her soft throaty chuckle.
Nan was the only person who had ever loved me.
But now she was gone.
Mary touched my hand gently. “That’s perfect,” she said. “I can see you have a knack for this. You and I are going to have to do more baking together. Stephanie can never be bothered. It’ll be nice to have someone to do it with.”
“I’d love that,” I replied.
But as I looked up I saw Stephanie standing silently behind Mary in the doorway. She was staring right at me.
And she looked like she hated me.
NOW
I sit on the bed and look around me. This is meant to be my room, but I’m not sure it will be for long. It’s just another passing place. Somewhere for me to rest my head until it all goes wrong. I’ll soon be moved away from here. I’m moved away from everywhere in the end.
When I was young, I lived with my nan – but she died when I was six. Since then, I’ve had five different bedrooms in five different homes. The first two were temporary – places for me to stay while social services worked out what to do with me. Then I was moved to a family called the Foxes. I was eight, and already tired of moving homes. I wanted my nan back. No one else. Everything felt so wrong. I lasted just over a year with the Foxes before the social worker said that the placement wasn’t right for me.
So then I had another temporary home, and after a few months I was moved to the Gibsons’. Everyone was excited about that placement. My social worker back then told me she had a good feeling about it.
My room at the Gibsons’ was cosy and bright. Like Gemma Dawson, Mary had got books and clothes for me. She gave me a phone. She made an effort.
I started to hope things would be OK.
But it only lasted three years. So here I am in a new room – my sixth.
Aged thirteen. Waiting for it all to go wrong again.
I shove my bags into the bottom of the wardrobe. I don’t see any point in unpacking them. But I do pull out my favourite book and my writing journal. I take them both to my bedside table and place them there. The book w
as my nan’s – she gave it to me when I was living with her. It’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I don’t read this type of book normally, but there is something about this one that is special. I have read it so many times that the pages are worn and creased, and the cover is becoming tatty. But I don’t care. I will keep it for ever. I wish I could escape to Narnia, to another world where animals love and care for you and where brave creatures can be brought back to life.
I stroke the book’s cover and blink back the tears that are fighting to get out. I will not cry. I cannot.
If I start crying now, I might never stop.
I hear the front door open and close and then there are loud voices. I think it’s Graham arriving home. I get up off the bed and walk to the door. Gently, I ease it open. I can hear Graham and Gemma talking, but I can’t hear their exact words. My mind whirs as I wonder what they are saying.
Mary and Stephanie used to talk about me, at the end of my time there.
They probably thought I couldn’t hear them, but I could. I would press my ear up to the wall in my room and hear them muttering next door in Stephanie’s room.
Stephanie would complain about me and Mary would try to soothe her. I knew that, despite her kindness, Mary always tended to believe Stephanie.
After all, Stephanie was her daughter.
I was the outsider.
I hear footsteps on the stairs and dash back to my bed. There is a gentle knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call quietly.
Graham eases open the door but stays on the threshold. He smiles at me. “Hey, Amy. It’s good to see you again.”
Graham looks like I remember from when we briefly met before – very tall, with a face that almost seems elastic. His smile forms easily, and his eyes are bright and friendly.
I smile back shyly, feeling so awkward. Even sitting here on the bed feels wrong. I am so out of place.
“We were hoping that you might want to come downstairs,” Graham says. “Kenny will be home soon. I know he’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
“OK.” I nod.
I follow Graham out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind me.
I’m a bit nervous about meeting Kenny. I’m not sure we will have that much in common. Apparently, he’s into computers and chess. He sounds like a bit of a geek if I’m honest. Not that that matters.
I probably won’t know him for long.
FOUR
BEFORE
“She’ll never be your mum, you know,” Stephanie said.
I’d been living at the Gibsons’ for a year now and Stephanie and I were walking to school together for the first time. I was moving up to her secondary school and I was feeling a bit nervous.
I’d liked my primary school. Yes, I was shy and hadn’t made many friends, but it had been somewhere to escape from Stephanie for a bit. She pretended that everything was fine when Mary was around – it was only when we were on our own that she treated me like I was an annoying pest.
And now Stephanie and I would be in the same school together. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Mary had said goodbye to us both with a light kiss on the cheek. She had ruffled my hair gently and told me to “have a good day”. Mary said I wasn’t to worry because Stephanie would be there to make sure I was all right. Stephanie was already settled in Year Eight, so she could look after me.
But Stephanie didn’t seem very happy about this. “You mustn’t show me up in school,” she said now, her eyes scanning me up and down. “Are you even going to get a haircut any time soon?”
My hand fluttered to my head, touching the long strands that fell down my back. Nan had always said my hair was my best feature. She said I should never cut it and that I should keep growing it like Rapunzel.
And then Stephanie said those awful words: “She’ll never be your mum.” The words fell from her lips so casually. Her eyes scanned mine like she was waiting for a reaction. “My mum just feels sorry for you, that’s all. She thinks she’s doing something nice, but I can tell she’s already getting tired of you.”
“Tired of me?” I said, my eyes widening. “Is she?”
“Of course.” Stephanie giggled. “A dull little thing like you. Why wouldn’t she? You’re not what we hoped you would be.”
What could I even say to that? My gaze dropped back down to the pavement and my throat began to tighten.
That was the first time I realised that my “forever home” was at risk.
NOW
Kenny comes home at five o’clock. He crashes into the house and rushes to the living room, where I’m already sitting. Then he stands in the doorway, looking awkwardly at me, as if he’s not exactly sure what to say.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” Kenny replies, and holds out his hand in a half wave. “You’re here then?” He smiles.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Where are my parents?” Kenny asks.
“I think your dad is ordering food and your mum is making some tea.”
“Tea?” Kenny says, wrinkling his nose. “Do you really like that stuff?”
I shrug. “It’s OK, I guess.”
I take the chance to stare a bit at Kenny. He looks a lot like his photo. His hair is very soft and mousey and brushed away from his face. His glasses are large with dark frames. His mouth is small and his smile seems unsure, as if he’s trying to work me out.
“So – how do you like it here?” Kenny asks.
“I’ve only just arrived,” I reply. “It seems OK.”
“Mum and Dad aren’t so bad,” Kenny says, and pushes his glasses up. “I mean – they can be a bit annoying at times, but on the whole they are pretty chilled out about most stuff.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s cool.” I glance down at my lap and brush off an invisible crumb. “I was told that you like computers.”
“Yeah?” Kenny seems to brighten. “Do you? I like gaming and coding mostly.”
I shake my head. “Nah. It’s not really my thing. Sorry.”
He shifts on the spot, clearly feeling a bit more uncomfortable. “Oh, well, that’s fine …” Kenny says. “But if you ever wanted to—”
“I won’t,” I interrupt. “But thanks.”
I can’t pretend that I’m into the same things as him, and I’m not even sure there is much point in trying. After all, look what happened when I started to think that Stephanie might be OK.
I sigh loudly. “Was there anyone else before me then?”
Kenny frowns a bit. “What do you mean? A foster kid?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“No. You’re the first.”
“Oh.”
I’m not sure what to think of this. Do Graham and Gemma understand what this all involves? Are they looking for a perfect daughter to fill a gap in their lives? Because if that’s the case, I’m not sure I can be that person.
As if on cue, Gemma and Graham both breeze into the room.
“Oh, lovely!” Gemma says. Her hands are clutching an old‑fashioned tea tray. “I didn’t realise you were home, Kenny.”
Graham walks over to him, claps his arm. “You OK, mate? I see you’ve met Amy.”
“Yes. Yes, I have,” Kenny replies in a low voice. “It’s nice to finally have her here.” He flashes me a nervous smile, then quietly leaves the room.
Graham has ordered pizza. He tells me not to worry about Kenny. He says that Kenny is just nervous and wants to make the right impression.
I shrug. I’ve heard this all before.
“Kenny’s used to being on his own,” Gemma explains. “But he’s lovely – really friendly. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Was Kenny OK about all of this?” I ask carefully. My thoughts flick back to Stephanie. “I mean, I don’t even know why you guys decided to foster.”
Gemma nods. “Oh yes, Kenny was consulted all the way, don’t you worry. He is as keen as us for this to work.” She pauses and looks briefly at Graham
. “We always wanted a bigger family – and when it was clear that couldn’t happen because of medical reasons, we decided we wanted to expand our family in other ways. As you know, Graham is a teacher, and I work in a nursery. We like being around children. We want to open our home to someone new – to you.”
“Kenny has always said it’s a good thing to do,” Graham adds gently. “We wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t want to.”
I think of Stephanie. I wonder how much Mary had spoken to her about fostering me. Maybe she hadn’t – and maybe that was why it had gone wrong.
“But why me? Why a teenager?” I ask.
“Why not?” Graham smiles. “I work with teenagers and we wanted someone close to Kenny in age. It seemed like a good fit for us.”
A good fit? Is that what I am? Like a pair of shoes? I look at both Graham and Gemma and see how they are gazing at me, waiting for a reaction. I swallow dry air and force myself to smile.
“I hope I am,” I say.
But doubts are flooding through me like a river.
By the time the pizza arrives, Kenny has come back downstairs. To be fair, he seems pretty friendly, but I can’t help worrying that he’s pretending. It all seems so easy for him – how he chats to his parents, how he moves around the kitchen to get a drink. I bet he’s never felt out of place or unwelcome in his life.
Everyone makes a big fuss about the pizza, saying how it’s from the best place in town. Gemma hands me a box and I open it to find the biggest pizza I have ever seen. I swear my stomach shrinks at the sight of it. I think the nerves and stress of everything have stolen my appetite. I nibble the edges of my pizza and watch while the family talk, trying to figure them all out.
It’s pretty clear that Gemma is in charge of things here. She leads the conversation. Graham is more of an observer, sitting back and letting everyone else get on with it. But every so often he’ll make a witty comment or slip in a joke.
Know My Place Page 2