Know My Place

by Eve Ainsworth

  I slump in my seat and take out my phone. I feel so tired and worn out by everything. It’s like I’m crumbling inside. I wonder how I will ever find my energy again. I don’t have any real plans. I don’t have any clue as to how I can get more money or keep myself alive. But all I can hear is the little voice in my head that won’t shut up. It’s telling me that I will never be happy, that I have to keep running and not trust people again. I have to get used to being by myself.

  I swipe through the pictures on my phone. They are mainly of old friends, people I don’t even see any more. Previous lives that I’ve had to leave behind. As I scan back, I find photos of the Gibsons – of the family that was meant to be mine. I see a photo of Mary with her face pressed up to mine. She is smiling but I can see how tired her face is, the dark shadows dancing under her eyes. Was she really as ill as she said? Or did I make her ill with my constant arguing with Stephanie? Could Mary really no longer cope?

  I swipe back further and my head spins as I stare at the photos. I didn’t look at these for so long because they hurt me too much, but now I can’t tear my eyes away from them. My mind whirls as I swipe.

  What did I do wrong this time? Why doesn’t Gemma want me? Am I too quiet? Too grumpy? Am I not the sort of girl she is looking for?

  Or perhaps it’s Kenny? Maybe he doesn’t like me? Maybe he was only pretending to be nice?

  Am I really that hard to like?

  My finger stops swiping. I have come across an older photo, taken long ago but sent to this phone when I first got it. It’s an image of an original photograph. You can see the creases on the paper. The reflection of the light hitting the faces. But it doesn’t matter. It’s precious. It’s of my nan and me.

  I stare at it.

  I remember it being taken. Nan’s neighbour, Mrs Harris, had invited us to some party. She was the one who had sent me the photograph. I don’t even know if she still lives next door to my nan’s house, but they used to be best friends.

  I think I’m about four in the photo. My face is covered in cream from the cake I’ve just eaten, and my hair is tied up in bunches. Nan is carrying me on her hip. Her face is turned towards me. Her greyish blonde hair is loose and bouncy around her face, her mouth is open in a laugh. Nan looks so happy.

  We both do.

  I trace the picture with my finger, a stinging memory coming back – of being wanted, being held. Nan whispering in my ear that she loved me and would be there for me for ever.

  It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

  How did it go so wrong?

  Why did she have to leave me?

  When the bus pulls into my old town, I stagger towards the door. My legs are wobbly and my head hurts. I clutch my phone in my hands. Nan’s picture is now saved as my screensaver. I will not hide it again. I need it with me.

  “Are you all right, love?” the driver asks as I move towards the door. The bus is empty now and it seems he’s finally noticed me here on my own.

  “I’m fine,” I say back, as bright as I can.

  “Do you have somewhere to go?” the driver asks, frowning at me.

  “Oh yes.” I smile back, my fingers stroking my phone. “I’m going to my nan’s.”

  She’ll look after me.

  She always did.

  TEN

  BEFORE

  I rushed at Stephanie, who was still holding my journal and laughing. I felt a huge surge of anger and energy. I wanted my journal back. And I wanted to stop her talking, that was all.

  I just wanted to shut her up.

  Stephanie moved out of my room and onto the landing. She was still reading my journal and giggling at the words.

  “I miss you so much, Nan …” she said, putting on a silly, mocking voice. “Oh, Nan … it’s so hard. Will I ever be happy again …?”

  “Give it to me!” I yelled.

  I reached forward. I wanted to grab my book, but Stephanie pushed me away. Without thinking, I rushed towards her. Rage was growing like an uncontrollable wave inside me. I couldn’t stop it.

  I pushed Stephanie back. My strength surprised both of us. I saw her mouth open in shock.

  Everything seemed to go in slow motion. I saw her head tip back, her arms flail as she tried to regain her balance, but she was falling backwards in nothingness.

  Stephanie’s cry was loud and piercing. I tried to grab her. I really did, but it was too late. She was already falling backwards down the stairs.

  When I looked again, she was like a broken doll, curled up by the bottom step.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Guilt froze me on the spot.

  And then Mary came. She rushed to her daughter, crouched by her side and gently touched her hair.

  Then she looked up at me. Her eyes were horrified. Her entire body was shaking.

  “Amy – oh my God!” Mary said. “What have you done?”

  NOW

  Nan’s house looks so different now, and yet so familiar. I immediately see a “for sale” sign that stands at an angle in the front garden and my throat tightens. I know other people must have lived there after Nan died, and now it looks like someone else will move in soon. But still, now that I’m here, the thought of anyone else living here makes me feel sick. This is my nan’s house. Only hers.

  I walk down the path, trying not to get upset by the fact the front door has been painted a new colour and the lawn is paved over. I peer in through the front window. I can see its empty inside. At least no one is there now.

  I hate change. It claws at me. It makes me remember all the things I have lost and will never get back. But one thing hasn’t changed and that’s Nan’s funny stone goblin by the side gate. I approach him carefully, hardly able to believe that he’s still there. His wise, ugly face smiles at me. Nan used to pat his head on her way out of the house. She called him Gordon and said he was her lucky charm.

  “Hello, you,” I whisper to him. I feel like I’m greeting an old friend.

  There’s another thing that hasn’t changed. I gently tip the goblin’s body away from me and see that Nan’s spare key is still underneath him. The key is embedded in the earth and rusty, but it’s there waiting for me. I’m so thankful. It’s a sign, I’m sure it is. I’m doing the right thing.

  I’m home again.

  It’s cold inside the house and smells musty, but I don’t care. I walk into the hall and take a shaky breath. If I squeeze my eyes half shut, I can imagine Nan standing here with me, her hand leading me up the stairs to bed. Her voice is soft as she sings a nursery song …

  Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Mamma’s going to buy you a mockingbird …

  How is it possible that I can hear Nan’s voice now, as if she’s here beside me? I can smell her rich floral perfume. I can feel the soft folds of her long skirt as it brushes me.

  “Oh, Nan,” I whisper.

  I sit on the bottom step and rest my head against the wall. Now that I’m here I realise that I can’t go any further. I do not want to go into the kitchen – the memories there are too awful to relive. I do not want to go upstairs and find the empty rooms there – reminding me that my dear nan will never come back.

  So instead, I stay here. On the stairs. Halfway between the past and present. Stuck in a loop that never seems to end.

  “Nan …” I whisper again. “Nan, it all went so wrong. Why did that happen?”

  I reach inside my bag. I need my journal. I need to write my thoughts down, to tell Nan how I’m feeling. But as I dig around inside, it’s clear I left my journal behind.

  My journal!

  “Nan …” I say, my voice cracking. “Nan, I messed up badly. I don’t know what to do.”

  And then I begin to cry.

  The Gibsons. It should have worked. It really should’ve been my forever home, and maybe it would’ve been if I had been stronger. Should I have told Mary the truth, that her daughter was a bully? Should I have tried harder to work things out with Stephanie?

  I didn’t mean
to push Stephanie. I didn’t mean for her to fall down the stairs. I certainly didn’t mean for her to break her ankle – but all these things happened.

  Stephanie later said it was all my fault. She told Mary that it was me bullying her and that I made her life miserable.

  There was no point arguing against Stephanie. I decided that no one would believe me, the broken kid in foster care. I was the outsider. What was the point anyway? Stephanie would never like me – things would never change. I was pretty sure I couldn’t be happy there.

  Mary changed after the accident. I saw how tired she looked, how she struggled to make eye contact with me. She said soon after that she was too ill to foster, but I knew it was a lie.

  Mary just no longer wanted me.

  She gave up.

  I think I sleep for a bit, slumped on the stairs. I wake up to my neck aching and my head throbbing. In my bag I can hear the soft pulse of my phone buzzing. I pull it out and see that I have missed calls from Gemma and my social worker. I ignore them and quickly turn my phone off.

  I don’t want to hear Gemma’s excuses. I don’t want to be told all the reasons the Dawsons don’t want to keep me.

  I walk into the living room.

  It’s so cold and empty in here now, and so different. I long to see Nan’s old furniture, her favourite chair, the large TV in the corner of the room. It’s all gone. It’s all too different.

  My stomach growls with hunger and my body aches. I sit on the hard, uncarpeted wooden floor and bring my knees up to my chest.

  I don’t know what to do any more.

  It’s later, much later. It’s dark now. I can hear banging on the door.

  I bring my legs tighter to my chest. My heart is thumping so hard I think it might burst out.

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  The letterbox flaps open.

  “Amy?”

  It’s Gemma. My stomach flips inside me. How did she know I was here?

  “Amy, are you there?” Gemma says. “If you are, please come to the door.”

  Go away, I think.

  I don’t want to see her.

  “Amy …” Gemma’s voice breaks. “Please be there, please. We are all so worried. If you’re not here, I don’t know what to do …”

  I shift on the spot. There is something in her voice. Something I haven’t heard before. She sounds so desperate, so upset.

  “Kenny thought you might be here,” Gemma goes on. “He worked it out. He’s so worried. We all are.” She pauses. “Amy, Kenny thinks you heard me on the phone. Did you? Were you listening? I think you might’ve got things wrong. Please open the door so I can explain. Please be there. We can’t be wrong about this.”

  I get up slowly. I’m unsure. I don’t know what to do. My head is spinning.

  Gemma keeps talking, her voice wobbling now.

  “When you heard me talking on the phone, it wasn’t about you. It wasn’t, Amy. The social workers wanted me to take on another foster child and I wasn’t ready.”

  Another child … My ears prick up. They were talking to Gemma about another child. She was turning down another placement. Not me.

  “I said no because I didn’t think I was ready,” Gemma continues. “I didn’t think my family was. And by family, I was including you, Amy. You are part of our family now. You are important. I want you to know that. You are as important to us as anyone. I want you home with us. Your family.”

  Family.

  Gemma wanted me. She really did.

  “Amy …” Her voice is so gentle. “Amy. We want you. We really do. We want you. You belong with us. We want you to come home.”

  Slowly and very carefully, I pick myself up. Then, before any doubt gets to me, I walk towards the door.

  “I’m coming,” I whisper. “I’m coming home.”

  AFTER

  Months pass.

  I could lie and tell you everything was perfect for me after that, but what would be the point? The truth is we all had to work at getting things right, like with most things. I can still be quiet at times and push people away.

  I still find school tricky, and at first I hung around with Kenny and his mates. But as time passed, I found I could trust some of the girls in my year. I got closer to Ellen and Hannah – I opened up a little. I guess I started to believe that I was here to stay – and that helped. I let myself make friends. And yeah, I still get grief from some of the kids in my year, but I’m learning to ignore it. I know I can’t help my past. It’s part of who I am, and if people can’t accept that about me – well, that’s their problem!

  I’ve spent more time with Gemma too. We do lots of baking together. She seems to understand that my moods are up and down and that it takes me a long time to build trust. Gemma says that’s OK. She says the one thing we have is time and that there is no rush. We talk a lot and it is helping. She got me a frame to put Nan’s picture in. It sits by my bed, next to a brand‑new journal that I write in every night.

  It helps to see Nan’s smiley face every day. I think she would be pleased to see me here. I think she would be relieved to see me trying my best and looking to the future finally, rather than focusing on the past.

  I still miss Nan badly, of course, and part of me always will. But I think I’ve realised now that it is possible to belong somewhere again.

  Gemma also made me speak to Clare, my social worker, about my experience at the Gibsons. Gemma and Clare both told me that I shouldn’t be blaming myself for things not working out there. When Clare took over my case, she thought my previous social worker had already talked to me about what had happened. Clare didn’t realise I hadn’t been told the full details. She explained that the placement hadn’t broken down just because of my behaviour – but also because of Stephanie’s.

  Nobody realised how much Stephanie had struggled with the placement. But they know now that my arrival had made her feel insecure and her anxiety had risen. She had been unable to cope with sharing so much of her life with me. Mary had felt it wasn’t fair on either of us for the placement to continue and was worried that we were both suffering. Mary wasn’t cross at me for that final incident on the stairs, but it made her realise it wasn’t working.

  And Mary was ill, that hadn’t been a lie. Her illness and Stephanie’s behaviour had made them decide to end the placement. Stephanie is getting help now too, and Mary says she regrets everything she put me through. I believe her. At the time I was so upset and confused that I convinced myself it was all my fault. But now I can see it wasn’t. I guess sometimes things just don’t work out the way you hope they will.

  So, I understand now. I’m still disappointed that the placement went wrong, but at least I know it wasn’t all about me. I’m learning to try not to get so upset about the things I can’t change and to focus on the stuff I can.

  I have a counsellor who helps me. I see her once a week. I think she’s helping me untangle the negative thoughts in my head. She’s helping me to see all the good things in my life. And there are lots. In many ways I know I am lucky.

  So, yeah. It’s not a “happy ever after” for me, but it’s a “happier ever after”. And you know what? I’m OK with that.

  I’m just glad to be settled.

  This is my home. My place.

  And it feels good.

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