Tell Tale (8 page)

The carers trudged through their duties each day. I mistook one or two of them for kids from the home, they were so young. Others were older, weary, grey, and most of them filled with resentment. None of them seemed to like us.

I tried to find my mother inside everyone I met, just in case, but none of the carers resembled her. I wanted to make friends with the grown-ups, but they couldn’t be bought with a gum-lined grin or a cut knee – not like Dad – and it was impossible to play a sneaky prank to get more bread at tea. I soon learned that ferocious punishment
followed even tiny steps out of line. Once, I went up the back stairs, forgetting they were strictly off limits. Each step hit my head as I was pushed back down by a shadowy figure at the top.

I wasn’t stupid, far from it, and mostly kept quiet and watched the goings-on, learning how it all worked, especially when I first arrived. I didn’t want to get taken to that room again, to see what was behind the bright light. No, I just kept my head down and waited for Dad to come back because he’d promised me he would.

It was on one of those waiting days, sitting, staring at the wall, swinging my legs, biting my nails, when I noticed that one of the carers, Miss Maddocks – who seemed about a hundred years old to me – wasn’t quite as scary as the other grown-ups. She bustled about the home more like a mother; someone with a heart.

I thought back to my first night at the home, when I’d had no idea who anyone was. It was Miss Maddocks who had stroked my forehead until she thought I was asleep. I’d been sobbing for my dad, and eventually lay quiet but completely awake – too terrified to realise that she was being nice – as she ran her papery hand over my damp head. Through my tightly shut eyes, I stared at the backs of my eyelids, seeing the warped face of my father as I was prised from him, the grim expression of the children’s home director as I was brought here, and the feral whoops of the other kids when they found out about me. The new girl.

‘What did you do wrong?’ a grimy boy of about twelve
asked me on my first morning. He passed me a bread roll and allowed me to wipe up the scrapings of jam on his plate. There was nothing else left. I’d spent most of the night sobbing and, when I did finally sleep, it was as the other children were waking and rushing for breakfast.

‘Do wrong?’ I asked. I wasn’t very hungry and didn’t like the look of the bread. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong. My mum died and my dad couldn’t cope. I tried to help.’ The other children fell silent and listened to me, even the older ones. ‘But I can’t have done it very well because they brought me here.’ I shrugged. It was the way things were, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

The grimy boy patted my shoulder. His hair was all messy and he smelled. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘You’re with us now.’

I looked around the group of children that had gathered. It felt as if I was in a circus and that made me want to howl and sob until my dad came for me. I didn’t want to live here with Miss Maddocks or any of the other carers who skulked in and out of the shadows. I didn’t want to eat dry bread for breakfast, or sleep in the lumpy cot next to a dozen other kids. I didn’t want to do anything except go home. I wanted things how they were.

‘How do you run away?’ I whispered to the boy. It made me feel sick to think of it. I had never done anything bad before. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful or hurt anyone’s feelings, but I didn’t think I could spend another hour in the horrid place.

There was a round of laughter followed by silence. ‘You
don’t,’ whispered the boy, his eyes as black as coal. ‘Because there’s nowhere else to go.’

Later, we were given different things to do. Two of the big girls had to clear and wash the dishes; another couple were instructed to strip the beds in B dorm and take them to the laundry. The boys were given brooms and had to sweep the hall then polish shoes, while the tall bony lady giving out instructions asked the rest of the group to shower and clean their teeth. These were things that I’d done at home every day for as long as I could remember. Why, then, did it seem so cold, so wrong, so cruel as the woman ushered everyone along with the back of her hand?

‘I want my dad,’ I said when I was the last one sitting on the bench. I would tell him everything, I vowed. About how horrid the place was.

The bony woman crouched down beside me. ‘Hey, orphan Annie,’ she said with a smile. ‘Have you got any muscles?’

I shook my head. Was she nice too, like Miss Maddocks, perhaps?

‘Well, you’re going to have to get some, living here.’ The woman gently squeezed the tops of my arms and smiled. ‘Ah, you have the muscles of an ox. Now would you like to help me carry in a basket of logs so we can get the fire lit?’

I shrugged. I didn’t want to do anything except go home.

‘Come on. No use moping about. You want to be able to tell your dad about how you’ve been a helpful girl all week, don’t you?’ The woman lifted my chin with her finger.

‘OK,’ I said, sliding off the bench and following her. ‘But can I strike the match to light the fire?’

‘Of course you can,’ she replied and told me her name was Patricia. She seemed nice. ‘I work here when Miss Maddocks has gone home.’

‘You mean you’re allowed to go home?’ I stopped. It didn’t seem fair.

Patricia laughed. ‘Of course. I have a son living at home. Miss Maddocks has to feed her cats.’

I was worried. ‘But what if everyone goes home? Who will look after us?’ I didn’t fancy the thought of all the older kids bossing me about. Most had been friendly, but one or two looked like trouble. I kept my head down and didn’t cause a fuss.

‘That never happens,’ Patricia assured me. ‘There’s always someone on duty and some of the carers live here.’

My shoulders dropped. Without really noticing, we’d walked along several corridors, down a flight of stone steps, through the endless basement until we arrived at a small room that smelled of wet forests and moss. ‘The log and coal store,’ Patricia announced. ‘It’s freezing today and I think we need a fire.’ She grinned as if everything might not be so bad after all. I wiped away a tear and took the small basket Patricia held out. ‘You pick out all the little bits of wood. You can carry the kindling upstairs and lay it in the grate.’

I did as I was told and within the hour a group of children had gathered around the massive stone fireplace to soak up the warmth of the blaze. For some reason, I felt
proud, maybe even a little warm inside myself. I had struck the match, held the tiny flame to the newspaper knots that Patricia had shown me how to tie, and these in turn had ignited the kindling. Soon, giant logs were crackling and popping in the grate, while plumes of black smoke rushed up the chimney. Lost in my make-believe world, I stared at the flames, fascinated as insects scurried from the logs in panic.

‘Do you think they’ll get a new home too?’ I said to the boy sitting next to me. We’d been given biscuits, and I sucked on mine to make it last. The boy shrugged as if I were a mad child.

But I didn’t feel mad at all. Neither did I feel like orphan Annie, or Cinderella, which one of the older girls had called me for helping with the fire. No, I was bursting with fresh hope, with purpose, with a lust for life that I’d long forgotten existed. For that one day, I had a feeling that everything was going to be all right. It was in my tummy; it was in my bones; I could even taste it. All I had to do was get through the next ten years to prove myself right.

Even in the rain, Mick spotted the dent. From the window, Nina saw him crouching next to the rear end of her car, running his fingers through the beads of water, wondering if he was seeing things as he walked out to the street to add another bag of rubbish to the already full dustbin. Squinting through the summer drizzle, Mick frowned and viewed the damage from several angles, just to make sure it was really there.

‘Damn,’ Nina whispered. Her breath fogged the window of the utility room.

As she heard Mick stamping his feet on the front door mat, Nina bunched up the pile of ironing that was still warm from the tumble dryer.

‘We need to recycle more,’ Mick said, washing his hands. Nina dumped the laundry on the kitchen table and put up the ironing board.

‘Do we?’ Perhaps he wouldn’t mention the car. She wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t told him. Mick would understand. Accidents happen. She plugged in the iron. Flattening clothes, stacking them in neat, pressed piles.

‘The bin’s stuffed. Surely there are things we could take to the—’

‘I do,’ Nina snapped. ‘Every week I go to the bottle bank, the paper recycling depot. Tins, cardboard, clothing, plastic. You name it, I recycle it.’

Mick paced the kitchen, wondering what had got into his wife this morning. He watched her slamming the iron on to the garments, adding more angular creases than she was taking away.

‘I’m not cross,’ he said finally. Nina looked up, the iron mid-swipe. ‘The car,’ he added, raising his eyebrows.

‘Oh,’ she said glumly. ‘I . . . I . . .’

‘Didn’t know how to tell me?’

Nina nodded like a little girl. She screwed up her eyes as her hair thankfully fell forward to cover her lie. She’d decided not to tell Mick about the accident or the mess at the theatre.

‘I’ll drop in at the garage later when I’m out. We’ll need several quotes for the insurance company.’ Mick filled the teapot.

‘Insurance?’ Nina pressed hard on the hot iron. ‘But won’t they want a crime number from the police or something?’

Mick turned, the kettle steaming in his hand. ‘Police? Christ, Nina, what did you do? Run someone over?’

Nina shook her head so vigorously that her brain ached. ‘No, of course not. I smacked into a lamp post while . . . while I was trying to park, OK?’ Suddenly, smelling something, she lifted the iron to reveal a triangular scorch
mark on Josie’s new T-shirt. The printed words had smeared to plastic goo in the heat and stuck to the iron plate, ruining the garment and the iron. ‘Oh no,’ she cried. ‘Josie’ll kill me.’

Nina felt the iron being pulled from her hand. Mick held up the T-shirt like a flag, laughing. ‘What does it say now?’ he asked.

Nina stared hard at the words. It had said
I’m an accident waiting to happen.
Both Josie and Nat had bought one a couple of days ago. ‘It looks like
I’m an ant waiting to happen
now,’ Nina replied, also laughing. ‘She loves it. She’ll never forgive me.’ She stuffed the T-shirt into the waste bin. ‘I’ll buy her another. She won’t even know.’

‘And don’t worry about the car,’ he said before going off to his studio to work. ‘I’ll sort it.’ He winked before clicking the door shut behind him.

Nina’s shoulders uncurled. She pulled the phone book out of the cupboard and looked up the number of the boutique where she knew Josie had bought the T-shirt. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to check that you have an item in stock.’ She tapped her fingers on the worktop and chewed on the end of the pen. Her daughter would never know the difference.

‘I just thought you ought to know,’ Laura said down the phone. It had rung only moments after Nina had finished talking to the boutique.

‘Know what?’

‘I wasn’t spying on them exactly.’

‘Laura, for God’s sake. Just tell me.’

‘And I’m not one for tittle-tattle either, but they’re our daughters and I know how you, especially you, feel about these things.’

‘Laura, just spit it out.’

‘They were both in Nat’s bedroom, Neen. On that bloody laptop Tom gave her from work. They were in total hysterics. I was just walking past, putting stuff away, so I stopped and listened. I peeked through the door crack too but couldn’t see much. Just Nat on the bed, rolling about, hugging a pillow. Josie was curled next to her, the computer between them.’

‘Go on.’

‘Nat said to Josie, “He wanted you to
undress
?” It sounded as if they were discussing something that had happened to Josie earlier.’

‘Yes,’ Nina said flatly.

‘They hooted and giggled. I’d told them earlier that I was going out, and they thought they were alone. Anyway, Josie told Nat “not to get too excited because she hadn’t done what he’d wanted”. Apparently “he got annoyed and logged off” were her words, whatever she meant by that.’ Laura paused. Nina heard her sip tea. ‘Then they decided to go back on to that stupid website. I have to admit, it was Nat’s idea, little minx. Josie was quite envious of the laptop, though. Nat was telling her how easy it is to hide it under the covers at night.’

‘Oh God,’ Nina said, wondering how many times her own laptop had been taken and used by Josie in a similar situation.

‘Turns out Nat’s online a lot more than I realised. She was telling Josie. She must think we’re stupid.’ Both women suddenly felt exactly that.

‘Anyway,’ Laura said, sighing. ‘They were definitely on Afterlife and Nat was glamming up Josie’s character and trying to make her look “not frumpy” as Nat put it.’ Nina was grateful that Laura had always been honest about how pushy Nat could be. ‘Nat appeared to be controlling Josie in the game. She’d put her in provocative clothes and was parading her around the public space for teens in this area. She’d even given poor Josie a pair of big boobs. Wait till I see her later.’

Nina couldn’t imagine her daughter taking kindly to Nat doing those things. But then she thought of the chat she’d read on her laptop. ‘I guess they’re just being kids, Laura.’ Nina couldn’t believe she’d just said that, but she was trying to echo what Mick would say.

‘Some boy turned up online. Clearly it was someone Josie fancied like crazy because she went absolutely scarlet. I think she quite liked it that her new look had done the trick and brought him to her online.’

‘Was his name Griff by any chance?’

‘Yes, it was.’ Laura paused, wondering how Nina knew. ‘I have to say, Josie didn’t seem to be comfortable with the whole online thing. She kind of froze.’

‘Really?’ Nina wondered why. Surely all teenage girls were up for a bit of a giggle with boys. She was fifteen, after all.

‘I knew what they were typing because they were reading
it out to each other. This Griff character was definitely coming on to Josie. He even asked her to come round to his place.’